Breaking Chains
by Count Bathory
Summary: For centuries, the Dunmer of House Dres have been notorious for their practice of slave labor, the cruelty of the slave-lords knowing no bounds. But how dark can the shadow of oppression grow? What happens when a slave is pushed too far? Will he rise and revolt against his masters? Will he risk death to achieve his freedom? And if so, will he succeed, or only die trying?
1. Lord & Lady Drethen

Alarys Drethen stared deeply into the candle standing by the edge of his desk, his eyes darting left and right, following the tiny flame as it flickered and danced about. His focus quickly returned to the parchment lying before him as he diligently skimmed through the words he had written. One could always easily identify any letter penned by Lord Alarys Drethen, High Councillor of House Dres. The left-handed Dunmer never left any shortage of smudges and ink smears upon his letters, which he always made sure to wipe off as best he could before placing his seal, and this time would be no different. Using the cloth he always kept close by, Alarys carefully wiped down the page before eloquently folding it, making sure the creases of the paper aligned perfectly. Pouring a dab of hot wax onto the page, Alarys stamped the signet of his ring into it, sealing the letter with the mark of House Dres. Finally placing the parchment aside, Alarys took a deep breath as he buried his face in his hands, taking that moment to clear his head and collect himself. It was a peaceful night outside, and the shining gaze of the moonlight allowed Alarys to relax.

A knock sounded at the door to Alarys's study, the Dunmer's head jerking up as the noise startled him.

"Alarys, am I disturbing you?" a sliver of light shone inside the study as the door slowly creaked open. Alarys stood from his chair behind his desk, giving a faint smile as his wife took a step inside.

"Valarya, my love, your presence is never a disturbance," Alarys replied warmly. Valarya Drethen returned the smile as she sauntered into the room, boasting the confidence of Almalexia herself. It was said that Lady Valarya was the only thing that was ever able to make her husband smile. Alarys Drethen was known to be cold as ice to those who knew him, his exterior hard and rigid as stone, his resolve like steel. His wife was the only one who could get past all that, who could reach deep down inside of him and bring out any sort of resemblance of affection or caring, no matter how slight.

There was not a man nor woman alive in Morrowind who would deny the beauty of Valarya Drethen. Tall, slender and fair was she, her face refined and smooth as silk. The Dunmer woman was no doubt a more than suitable match for any of the highborn men of the land, provided of course she deemed them worthy. Raised amongst the wealthy nobility, she was heavily exposed to the frequent scheming and plotting that took place, and over the years she developed an intelligent, cunning mind that allowed her to cement a place of her own within Morrowind's Grand Council and establish a considerable amount of power and influence.

Alarys and Valarya first met at a formal ball centuries ago, where his future wife was, at that time actually betrothed to the son of a powerful lord of House Indoril. Alarys Drethen was never a man to let what he wanted slip through his fingers, however. He did not hesitate to ask the young woman to a dance. He openly displayed his affection for Valarya, courting her over a period of many months, their relationship slowly but surely growing as time passed. The two would eventually come to fall deeply in love with one another, and it was then they knew they belonged together. When Valarya's betrothed learned of the relationship, he challenged Alarys to a duel to settle the matter once and for all. Alarys slew the man in mere seconds, thereby winning Valarya's hand. They were wed shortly after, and their marriage was by all accounts, a happy one.

Alarys Drethen himself was his wife's senior by sixty-eight years. Aged four hundred and twenty-one, the Dunmer was not yet quite considered elderly, but he was certainly past his prime, and for years Alarys had begun to feel the slow effects of increased age creeping up on him, like a viper silently slithering through the grass. The man still possessed a full head of black hair that fell to his shoulders. His lightly wrinkled face betrayed few emotions, his expression nearly always remaining serious and solemn. The man never laughed, as such a thing was considered childish and immature to him, and he had a difficult time trusting those who did. Laughter was a sign of insincerity, and Alarys always questioned the motives of anyone who displayed it openly before him. Only his wife could bring anything even remotely resembling a smile to his face. Only with her, did Alarys allow his guard to drop. Only with Valarya, did he let himself be open and vulnerable.

Lord and Lady Drethen shared a kiss as they embraced, their red eyes burning as they gazed longingly into one another. Alarys ran his fingers through his wife's long black hair, his other hand holding her close to him as he rubbed the smalls of her back. Lady Valarya cupped her husband's face with her hands, which he always kept clean-shaven. The moonlit sky illuminated their faces as they stood holding each other before the wide, arched window that provided a breathtaking view of Morrowind's many rural farmlands, rustling seas, and lustrous forests. If one looked far enough, they would even be able to see the smoking, ashen summit of Red Mountain looming in the distance that sat at the heart of the island of Vvardenfell.

Drethen Manor was one of several wealthy plantations that surrounded the great city of Tear, the seat of House Dres and their center of power. The Drethens by far ran one of the largest and most successful operations in the land, and the amount of money they brought in for themselves each year was staggering. Most of the territory of House Dres lay on the southeastern corner of mainland Morrowind. Unlike much of the rest of the country, this region of Morrowind was blessed with an abundance of rich, fertile soil and ripe, healthy vegetation. Fields and farmlands stretched as far as the eye could see across the sprawling plains, each year providing bountiful and fruitful harvests that brought in hefty profits for the wealthy landowners, like Alarys Drethen. Agriculture had long been the key to House Dres's economy, and this allowed their wealth and power to spread across the land over the centuries. And all of this, of course, was made possible from their centuries old practice of slave labor.

"This came for you today, my love," spoke Valarya, revealing a sealed letter from the sleeve of her black and maroon dress. Alarys gave his wife another kiss as he gently took the letter from her hand. The Dunmer sat back down at his desk, giving an audible, irritated groan as he eyed the dragon sigil of the Empire upon the seal.

"What in Oblivion do those Imperial dogs want now," grunted Alarys as he unfolded the letter and began to read. Lady Valarya sat at the edge of her husband's desk, crossing her legs as she slowly waved her hand over the candle flame.

 _Lord Alarys Drethen,_

 _I hope this letter finds you in good health. It is unfortunate that our last meeting ended as poorly as it did. It was never my intent to disrespect you, my lord, and I deeply regret any offense I may have given. Having said that, however, I am afraid I must remain adamant in my request for you to release all of your slaves with all due haste._

 _I understand that slavery is an ancient practice in Morrowind. I know that many of the great lords of this land wish to preserve the old traditions and customs, and I truly respect that desire. But Morrowind is entering a new age, Lord Drethen. It is the wish of my Emperor, that the Empire and the lords of Morrowind such as yourself, can work together to usher forth a new era of peace, prosperity, happiness, but most importantly, equality for all citizens of this great country, outlander and Dunmer alike. With all respect due, slavery simply no longer has any place in Morrowind. If this land is to progress forward according to the Empire's vision, as well as that of our many supporters, this barbaric, cruel practice must be abolished and buried for all time._

 _I am aware this is no small feat to ask of you, Lord Drethen. That is why the Empire is generously willing to compensate you in the amount of five hundred thousand septims for the release of every slave currently under your ownership. Every man, woman, and child will be free to remain in Morrowind, or leave to wherever they so desire. Every individual will be given the chance to make something of themselves, to live a life they never thought possible. It is my sincere hope, Lord Drethen, that you will have a change of heart, and cooperate with the Empire as we work to change this land. For I assure you, those who continue to refuse the Empire will be subject to the full penalty of Imperial law. I hope it will not come to that, Lord Drethen. I eagerly await your reply._

 _By His Grace Emperor Uriel Septim VII,_

 _Vicentus Antorius, Knight of the Imperial Dragon, and Lord-Commander of the Imperial Legion, Morrowind Division._

Not a single expression crossed Alarys Drethen's face, not a single word passed his lips as he scanned through the letter again and again. Valarya stared inquisitively at her husband, trying to gauge his expression in an attempt to deduce what he was thinking. Alas, even with her keen eyes, she was unsuccessful.

 _Half a million drakes for all the slaves on my estate?! Does the Empire think me a beggar?_ Lord-Commander Antorius may as well have come up to Alarys in person and spit in his face directly.

"What does the letter say, Alarys?" asked Valarya. Alarys did not answer his wife. The Dunmer held the letter into the candle, the parchment curling into itself as it burnt to nothingness in Alarys's hand. The Councillor of House Dres expected no different from the Empire. Honeyed words, lined with a veiled threat. This attempt to intimidate Alarys into compliance was beyond pitiful.

"Our dear friend the Lord-Commander is offering me chump change, if I agree to release my slaves," Alarys finally spoke. "Apparently fancy titles and fancy armor means he can order me around like a common peasant."

"And let me guess," began Lady Valarya, "there was a nice little threat tacked on at the end?"

"Quite right, my love, as you always are," said Alarys with a smirk.

"Who do these Imperial scum think they are…" said the Dunmer lord, his face suddenly contorting to a scowl. "They come here to our borders, unwanted, barge into our lands, claim lordship over our people, piss on our traditions and way of life, and threaten those who refuse to stand idly by while Morrowind slowly falls into foreigner hands. All the while pretending to be acting in our best interests, claiming to serve Morrowind, claiming that what they do is for the greater good of the Dunmer people. And they expect us to just bend the knee to them?! To grovel at their feet like a starved dog?! I'll die before I bow to those fetchers!"

Valarya Drethen remained silent. Long ago, she learned that the best thing to do when her lord husband went on one of his spiels, was to simply say nothing at all. Alarys stood from his seat, pacing back and forth across the study.

"I am a true Dunmer," Lord Drethen continued. " I will never abandon our ways. Even King Helseth himself may lick the Emperor's boots, but I will not. Morrowind was built by the Dunmer, _for_ the Dunmer. I would see every outlander hanged and butchered if I had it my way. The Empire preaches of equality. They dare to place those beasts that work our fields on the same level as us. Bah! It is our _right_ to keep those fur-bags and scalebacks as slaves, has _always_ been our right! Those beasts were bred to serve us, and that is how it shall always be. This country was built on slavery, and it has served as the foundation of Morrowind's economy and prosperity for generations. I will not allow the Empire to tear that asunder. The abolition of slavery will be the death of Morrowind, and I simply will not allow that to happen. The Imperials can make all the threats they damn well please, they cannot touch me here."

When Alarys finally managed to calm himself, he sat down again, taking a deep breath as his gaze stretched across the dark study. Valarya stood behind her husband, placing her hands on his shoulders as she began to gently massage them. Alarys shut his eyes, taking a deep breath of relief as he basked in his wife's touch. The tension and stress boiling inside him began to subside, allowing him to think more clearly and rationally.

"I value your opinion above anyone else," said Alarys to his lady wife. "What do you think I should do, Valarya?"

Valarya took a moment to formulate her response as she continued to massage her husband. There was not a single instance in their entire marriage where Alarys did not come to her and seek her advice when he was unsure of something. Other Dunmer lords were too proud, or perhaps even saw it as a weakness to go to their wives for help. Valarya knew those men were fools, and she was always more than happy to share her thoughts and wisdom with her husband, even if it wasn't always what he wanted to hear.

"I think you should take the Empire's threat seriously," she finally said. "As much as I hate to say it, they have proven they are a force to be reckoned with. If this Lord-Commander Antorius does decide to impose sanctions upon us, it could potentially hinder, or even cripple our entire operation. I'm not telling you to bend to the Empire's will, I'm simply warning you that we should be ready for the potentially harsh consequences we will face if we are to defy their wishes. Those are our slaves. If the Imperials want them, then we need to ensure we can resist them, should they come knocking. Let them know that challenging the Drethens is a grave mistake."

Valarya Drethen was always the more level-headed of the two. While they were of equal intelligence to each other, Valarya had a better sense of patience which allowed her to think through a problem with a clearer mind and let her see things in ways her husband might not. On the other hand, Alarys was superior to his wife when it came to quick thinking and hatching unique solutions on the fly. They were a perfect balance to one another, and it was their minds together that allowed the Drethen plantation to run for as long as it had.

"You're right," said Alarys. "I think we need to-"

"My lord!" a voice rang. Alarys looked up to see Malisarr, the captain of his plantation guard force come marching into the study.

"My lord," said the young Dunmer again as he stopped before Alarys's desk, "my lady," he gave a small bow to Valarya.

"Yes Malisarr, what is it?" asked Alarys with noticeable irritation.

"My lord, a Khajiit slave was caught not long ago, trying to steal several crops from the fields," said Malisarr, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. "It was probably his intention to hoard the crops within his shack and keep them for himself, as well as the others who share that shack. I was just wondering how I should-"

"You n-wah!" Alarys cursed. "This is what you interrupt me for, Malisarr?! Do you seriously intend to waltz in here and pester me every time a slave so much as sneezes? Punish the fur-bag and be done with it. I have much more pressing matters to deal with, Malisarr. If you need me to tell you how to do your job, then perhaps it's time I found a new captain."

The captain stood silent as he quivered beneath the wroth of his employer's voice.

"Y-yes, my…my lord," stammered Malisarr, "my apologies."

"If that is all, Malisarr, then get the hell out," said Alarys.

"There is actually one more thing, Lord Drethen," Malisarr replied. "My men have discovered a new mine, about a half hour east from here. An ebony mine."

That caught Alarys's attention.

"Go on," said Alarys, leaning back in his chair.

"The mine appears to be completely full with ebony ore, my lord. But even more importantly, it's vacant. My men were only able to venture a short ways inside, as a significant portion of the mine appears to have caved in and collapsed, blocking off at least half of it. But if we were able to somehow dig our way through-" Malisarr didn't have to say another word.

"There could be millions, waiting in that mine," said Alarys. "At dawn tomorrow, you are to gather the most able-bodied slaves and get them working in that mine, before the Imperials get to it first. Clear out as much of the blockage as you can, then focus on getting that ebony into our hands. If you can, conceal the path to the mine and mask its appearance. I don't want those Imperial dogs sniffing around my profits. Do this, Malisarr, and I promise you a significant cut of the spoils."

"As you command, my lord," said Malisarr, his confident tone of voice returning. "It was a pleasure seeing you, Lady Drethen." With that, Malisarr left the Drethens alone in the study, shutting the door behind him.

Alarys grabbed another parchment, dipping his quill into the ink before setting it to the page.

"Is this your reply to the Lord-Commander?" asked Valarya, peering over her husband's right shoulder as he wrote.

"Bugger him, that'd be a waste of perfectly good ink," said Alarys. "This letter is to my old friend, Orvas Dren."

"The leader of the Camonna Tong?" Valarya asked with mild surprise.

"Yes, my dear wife," answered Alarys. "The one and only."


	2. Crack of the Whip

K'Jhari recoiled in horror as the whip sliced across the back of his fellow Khajiit. A vicious knot formed in the feline's stomach as he eyed the nasty welts that lined J'Rokir's back, blood oozing from his fur. Another whip followed only seconds later, J'Rokir unable to suppress a grunt of pain as the whip lashed through his fur. After the third strike, the Khajiit nearly fell to his knees, but the two plantation guards holding him by the arms forced J'Rokir to stand upright.

"This'll teach you to steal Lord Drethen's crops, you dumb ball of fur," said Malisarr, clutching the whip tight in his fingers as he dangled it back and forth across the wooden floor of the slave shack. For Malisarr Orvethus, captain of Drethen Manor's guard, this was without a doubt his favorite part of the job. There was truly little more the young, eager Dunmer could ask for in life. Getting paid thousands a year to keep order and stability on the Drethen estate, to punish and beat disobedient slaves who tried to shirk the strict, iron-fisted regime he maintained over the legions of slaves in Lord Drethen's captivity. Quite often, Malisarr would simply inflict his cruelty upon an unfortunate slave purely for his own pleasure, no disobedience or insubordination required. Malisarr knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he could do this for the rest of his life, so long as Alarys Drethen continued to line his pockets with gold.

Malisarr was an ugly, but fearsome man to behold. Numerous face-paintings and piercings covered his shaved head. The left side of the Dunmer captain's face was all but completely burnt away. What used to be flesh had been replaced by a horrific, ruined mess of pinkish-red scarring and disfigured, charred tissue. Small, deep cracks ran from his cheek all the way to his ear that leaked oozing wet pus. Malisarr bore his twisted scars all too proudly, deriving no small pleasure when people quivered, and little children screamed at his grotesque appearance.

But what truly struck fear into the hearts of every slave forced to live beneath the fist of Malisarr Orvethus, was the long, thick coat the Dunmer wore at all times as he ruled the slaves like a tyrant. Every inch of the fur that comprised Malisarr's overcoat was stitched together using none other than the actual skin of Khajiit slaves who had committed the most serious offenses, such as attempting to escape the plantation. Similarly, beneath that, Malisarr wore a cuirass of armor forged from Argonian scales that was reinforced with ebony. Every piece of the guard captain's outfit had come from a once living, breathing being, and just the sight of the Dunmer's gruesome attire was usually enough to vanquish any thoughts of rebellion or defiance a slave may have had, lest they be skinned and stitched into a garment as well. The only stipulation of Malisarr's position, was that the killing of any slave was strictly forbidden, unless the order came directly from the mouth of Alarys Drethen himself. A stipulation that was made crystal clear when Malisarr once beat an Argonian to an inch of his life and rendered the lizard unable to work for a month. Lord Drethen was livid, and he had the captain's wages halved for six months. Since that day, that was the one and only leash restraining Malisarr's cruelty.

The whip cracked again as it struck J'Rokir once more. K'Jhari felt as if he was going to be sick to his stomach as his shack-mate's cry of pain filled his ears. The Khajiit wanted nothing more than to intervene and help his friend and kinsman, but K'Jhari knew that would be folly. Such an action would only result in him receiving the whip himself, right next to J'Rokir. All he could do was stand there, gritting his teeth as he wished with all of his heart for this horror to just end.

"Let this be a stern lesson to both of you," Malisarr's guttural voice boomed across the small shack, sending a shiver down K'Jhari's spine. "This is what happens to those who get it in their heads to defy the rules of Lord Drethen's plantation. Step out of line again, and I'll punish you as well as every fur-bag in this entire block. Consider this just a _friendly_ warning." Malisarr gave a nod to his men, and they threw J'Rokir to the floor. K'Jhari immediately rushed over and knelt beside his kinsman, trying his hardest to comfort him.

"I would suggest you both get your rest tonight," said Malisarr as his men left the shack. "At first light tomorrow, you and several of the others will be heading to a new ebony mine we have discovered very recently. Your next several days will be spent clearing this mine of rubble and debris, before you begin actually digging the ore. The task will be backbreaking, I'm sure, and I expect everyone to work until your bones feel like glass, ready to shatter." With that, the sneering guard captain followed his men outside, slamming the door of the slave shack shut as he marched off.

"Are you alright, J'Rokir?" asked K'Jhari with great concern as he examined the bloody lashes that lined the feline's back.

"This one will be f-fine," J'Rokir winced as the welts on his back stung him like fire. K'Jhari helped J'Rokir get into his bedroll, gently laying his head on the ground as he wrapped the blanket around him. As they had no access to any supplies, there was little K'Jhari could do to help his fellow Khajiit with the pain. All J'Rokir could do was rest, and wait for the pain to subside in its own time.

"K'Jhari thinks it was very foolish of this one to steal those crops," the Khajiit said, sitting next to J'Rokir as he tried to get comfortable. "Taking a risk like that was only asking to feel the crack of the whip."

"I know. It was stupid of J'Rokir to attempt such a thing," J'Rokir admitted reluctantly. "But our rations have been so low this week, and we have been so hungry. J'Rokir thought he could snatch some extra food from the fields without anyone noticing. Clearly, J'Rokir was wrong." The feline took a long, defeated sigh of failure as he tried to forget about the searing pain still plaguing his back.

"This one commends your efforts. But please, my friend, do not attempt such a thing again," K'Jhari nearly sounded as if he was pleading. "J'Rokir would not want to end up being a part of that jacket, would he?"

"A fair point," said J'Rokir as he turned in his bedroll. The wounded Khajiit fell asleep soon after. K'Jhari sat with his back to the wall, taking a long breath as he shut his eyes and tried to clear what had just transpired from his mind. Thin streaks of moonlight could be seen shining through the small, single window of the slave shack, and like all Khajiit, K'Jhari took great comfort every night as Masser and Secunda glimmered with radiance in the starlit sky. K'Jhari decided to stand and stare out the window so he could bask in the beauty of the moons in full, a small measure of peace filling his soul as he took solace in the silence of the young night.

The door to the shack opened, startling K'Jhari as he turned around.

"K'Jhari!" came the voice as the door shut again.

"Ashara, there you are," said K'Jhari as his little sister ran to him. The two siblings embraced, and K'Jhari knelt down to Ashara's level, their amber eyes gazing into one another. "This one was getting worried about you, Ashara. You're later than you usually are."

"Forgive me, brother," said Ashara apologetically, her voice quivering as if she were about to cry. "I tried to get here as fast as I could, but I was held up. Please don't be mad, K'Jhari. I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright, dear Ashara," said K'Jhari, chuckling at his sister. "This one is just glad you are back safe and sound."

"What happened to J'Rokir?" asked Ashara, noticing the whip marks on his back.

"The cruel elves found out he stole from the fields and came to punish him," K'Jhari answered little Ashara, taking care to leave out the specific details. "This one is glad you were not here to see it. What the elves did to J'Rokir is not anything a small child should see."

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Yes, little one, he will be fine," said K'Jhari reassuringly. "J'Rokir simply needs his rest. As do you, dear sister."

"Tell me a story first, big brother," said Ashara. "I always fall asleep faster when you tell me a story."

"As you wish, dear sister, but just one." Ashara smiled as she snuggled against K'Jhari beneath their blankets.

"Tell me of Elsweyr, brother," said Ashara, excitedly. "Tell me of our home."

K'Jhari sighed as his hand gently rubbed the grey fur atop his little sister's head.

"I'm afraid this one does not remember much of our homeland anymore, Ashara," K'Jhari said with no small amount of sorrow and lament. "But I will certainly try, if that is your wish."

K'Jhari was only fourteen years of age when he, and Ashara's lives had been ripped apart and shattered into pieces. Ashara herself was only a kitten of three, and thus remembered nothing about that horrific day. But for K'Jhari, the memory of that tragedy haunted him every day since it happened. The scarring images of their parents lying dead in crimson pools of blood as they tried to protect their children from the band of marauders that had so suddenly stormed their home never left the young Khajiit's dreams. The screams of their mother and father ruthlessly troubled K'Jhari day after day as they were so mercilessly butchered like cattle right in front of him. Ashara's terrified wails broke K'Jhari's heart every time his mind was cruel enough to remind him, as he knew the poor little cub didn't even have the capability to understand what was going on. Everything had happened so fast. One minute, the Khajiit was living an ordinary life, no different than any of the other common citizens of Elsweyr, and then the next, in the blink of an eye, that ordinary life was being viciously torn asunder.

The marauders that murdered K'Jhari and Ashara's parents had turned out to be none other than slavers from Morrowind, who frequently conducted these sorts of raids in Elsweyr, as well as Black Marsh. These attacks were carried out for the sole purpose of capturing unsuspecting Khajiit and Argonian citizens, forcing them from their homes, and shipping them back to Morrowind to be sold like animals. The Dunmeri province had always boasted a booming slave market for as long as anyone could remember, and it was almost terrifying how much money these slavers made from their operations. But what was even worse than that, was how these slavers gave not the slightest care as they destroyed settlements, as they murdered and captured innocent people, as they tore families and loved ones apart, leaving screams and cries in their wake. Only money mattered to these people. The jingling of fat coin purses was what these people lived for, and there was nothing they would not do for their hefty payout.

And that is exactly what happened to K'Jhari and Ashara. Not even a day after that brutal attack, the Khajiit siblings were whisked away from their homeland and placed on a ship, bound for Sadrith Mora. Locked and caged like rats, like the hundreds of other captives just like them, K'Jhari could do nothing but live in fear every day, not knowing the fate that was to come for him and his kitten sister. K'Jhari knew he would never forgive himself for standing there, frozen helpless as he watched his parents die before his eyes. Ever since that day, K'Jhari thought of what he could have done differently to try and help his parents. Perhaps, he thought, if he hadn't been so paralyzed with fear and had stood with his parents against the slavers, maybe they would still be alive. Maybe he and Ashara would still be in Elsweyr, living in happiness with their loving family. If only he hadn't been such a coward. If only he could have done something to save their parents. The truth was, K'Jhari placed no small level of blame upon himself for their situation. Little Ashara deserved such a better life than this, and the fact that he, her big brother, could not give that life to her, utterly shattered every inch of K'Jhari's being.

The young Khajiit still remembered the day he and Ashara had been sold. It was a hot, summer day all across Vvardenfell. The siblings had already been held captive in the slave pens in Sadrith Mora for several weeks. The wizard-lords of House Telvanni had decided that day to hold a grand slave exhibit, where scores of wealthy lords and ladies from all stretches of Morrowind would be attending to examine, and purchase the fresh captives. K'Jhari remembered holding his sister close to him as he watched Morrowind's wealthiest individuals pouring into the fungal city of Sadrith Mora. The one thing he was grateful for that day, was that he and Ashara at least had been purchased together.

The siblings were placed into a pack of thirty or so other captives, and they were taken and placed into an auction. Several hundred had gathered in audience to bid on the group of slaves. The auctioneer hollered numbers out to the vast audience, the price climbing higher and higher as more members of the crowd placed their bids. K'Jhari remembered that moment all too well, when all the roaring voices suddenly fell silent, no one speaking a word for several seconds. And that was when the final, winning bid was placed. K'Jhari remembered watching the two Dunmer coming forward to the auctioneer to claim their prize. The Khajiit was paying no attention to any of the words being spoken. He could only stand there and wonder what life would bring next for he and Ashara, now that they had been purchased. The two Dunmer came closer, standing mere feet away from their newly acquired slaves, and that was when K'Jhari got his first close look at he and Ashara's new owners: Alarys and Valarya Drethen.

Ashara was all that mattered to K'Jhari now. With him now twenty, and she nine, the siblings had spent six years as slaves on the Drethen plantation. Ever since he had been forced to watch his parents die, K'Jhari made a vow to himself to protect Ashara, and do everything in his power to keep his little sister from harm. They were the only family they had to one another. It saddened K'Jhari that Ashara had no real memories of Elsweyr. He would have loved nothing more than to break them both free from this place, and take his sister back to their homeland, to where they belonged. Ashara was the only thing that gave K'Jhari hope, the only thing that gave him the strength to endure the grueling, almost torturous work he was forced to do every day. K'Jhari knew he would die for his sister, should it ever have come to that. Ashara was all that gave his life any meaning anymore, and K'Jhari knew he would never hesitate to sacrifice himself if it meant keeping her safe.

Ashara had it better than pretty much any of the other slaves, though that probably wasn't saying much. As she was too young and small to toil a field or work a mine, she instead worked directly inside Drethen Manor. Her most common duties consisted of largely menial, lowly tasks. Sweeping floors, tidying the many rooms in the mansion, helping the cooks prepare meals, emptying and cleaning chamber pots. Ashara took no pleasure in these tasks, but she knew they at least had to be better than the kind of work her brother had to do. And on top of that, Ashara had one additional responsibility that no other servant or slave in the manor shared, and that was serving as the personal handmaiden of Lady Drethen herself. K'Jhari was beyond grateful for this, as that meant Ashara was safe from Malisarr's wrath. Not only that, but Ashara was also much better fed than all the others, and her life was generally more comfortable than the hundreds who had to perform exhausting manual labor day after day, like K'Jhari.

Just as he expected, Ashara was fast asleep by the time K'Jhari finished his story. K'Jhari smiled as his sister purred lightly, resting snug against him. After everything that had happened today, K'Jhari at last felt his own eyes growing heavy as his mind and body began to call him to slumber. K'Jhari let out a sigh of exhaustion, and it was then that he caught himself staring at his wrists, at the iron bracers locked and clamped around each hand. Every slave that was bound to the Drethen plantation was forced to wear these bracers around their wrists, a never-ending symbol of their oppression that served to remind each and every captive of their place. Should any slave actually ever be crafty enough to escape the plantation, the bracers would make them identifiable on sight. More like than not, they would be discovered and apprehended by the authorities, before being sent straight back to the captivity they had tried so hard to escape.

K'Jhari gave one last gaze to the moonlight. Ashara and J'Rokir were already both in a deep sleep, and K'Jhari knew he had better do the same in preparation for the surely grueling, strenuous day that tomorrow would bring.

"Sweet dreams, young one." K'Jhari kissed the top of Ashara's head, before at last shutting his eyes.


	3. Plantation

Treads-Marshes quietly stepped outside, slowly shutting the door of his shack behind him. The lime-scaled Argonian glanced to the sky above, taking a moment to admire the moons and stars, basking in the serene silence. The first hour of dawn was always Marsh's favorite time of day. Indeed, it was the only time of day when all was utterly quiet and peaceful across the plantation. It was the only time of day when Marsh didn't have to deal with the constant, backbreaking work that he and the hundreds of slaves like him had to suffer through each day. It was the only time of day where he didn't have to deal with guards constantly barking orders and derogatory slurs, or worry about being subjected to their cruel punishments. For Treads-Marshes, morning was the only time he felt he could forget about the endless oppression that hung over him like a shadow, and could truly be himself, even if only temporarily. For the last several years, the Argonian had made it a point to wake at the crack of dawn each day, and simply enjoy the great outdoors in blissful solitude, before the beginning of yet another grueling day of work on the plantation.

Marsh shut his eyes as he took in a deep breath, letting the crisp, cool morning air fill him as it sent a tingling sensation throughout his body. The lizard let his mind wander freely for but a moment as he listened closely to the soft howl of the soothing breeze. Stretching his arms and letting a yawn escape him, Marsh then set off and began his daily morning stroll.

The Argonian strode swiftly but quietly through the filth-ridden slums of the slave quarters, his pace brisk and sure as he passed by the countless rows of shacks, each more decrepit and ramshackle than the last. Downtrodden and crumbling, the slumped shacks appeared as if even just a mere gust of wind would send them all toppling to the ground. Marsh was quite frankly surprised that the rotted wood from which the shacks were so shoddily built was able to hold up at all, and didn't simply collapse from decay. The stench of mold and mildew hung rampant in the air, and Marsh found himself glad that he was an Argonian, and was therefore immune to any illnesses and diseases that thrived in such conditions. He wasn't sure how the small number of human slaves on the plantation survived at all.

 _Not even rats deserve such squalor_ , Marsh thought despondently.

Upon exiting the slave quarters, Marsh took another long breath as his senses were no longer assaulted by the putrid foulness. The Argonian emerged onto the main fields and farmlands, where the vast majority of the slaves on the Drethen plantation were put to work during the day. From morning till nightfall, the slaves worked to the bone as they were forced to plant, maintain, and harvest the produce from the countless acres of fertile fields and pastures that stretched further than Marsh could even see. Agriculture and farming was the pillar of the Drethens' enormous wealth, as it was also for the entirety of Great House Dres. The crop fields served as the backbone to the economy of all the slave plantations spread across the land, and as such, they were kept well-manned by hundreds, sometimes even thousands of captive slaves, and heavily patrolled by guards who were always looking for the smallest excuse to inflict their cruelty on anyone.

 _I wonder if the people of Morrowind ever stop and consider how much of the food they eat every day is grown through torturous slave work_ , Marsh mused, though he strongly doubted it.

Marsh scanned the area for a moment, scouting for any guards that might be out at this hour. Once confirming the coast was clear, the Argonian continued on his way, thankful he would not be accosted.

 _Most of the guards are probably hungover right now, I reckon_. A gust of the morning breeze sent a chill down Marsh's spine, and the Argonian promptly pulled his coat tighter against him.

Silent and slick as a phantom, Treads-Marshes stole across the fields and farms, barely leaving any prints upon the soil as he crept along in a semi-crouch. Marsh suspected the extra discretion was probably unnecessary, but his younger days as a thief and outlaw back in his homeland of Black Marsh had instilled the habit into his mind.

Coming through the pastures, Marsh's gaze zipped across the plantation as he checked to ensure he was still alone. An expansive stretch of thick, grassy meadows lay ahead of him, and the Argonian found his pace quickening as his scaly feet carried him eagerly across a verdant knoll. His tail whipped behind him as he skulked through the tall blades of grass with the grace of a serpent, eventually slowing to a halt as he came to the secluded tree that stood at the far edge of the green plains.

Grabbing the closest branch, Marsh pulled himself up as he began to ascend the towering tree. Climbing came as naturally to Marsh as sneaking, and the Argonian rose higher up the tree at an almost blinding speed. Tiny chips of bark occasionally would fall to the ground as his claws dug into the trunk, his face tickled as swarms of leaves lightly brushed against his skin.

Marsh perched himself upon the highest branch of the tree, smiling to himself as he took solace in the spectacular bird's-eye view of the land below him. Marsh's eyes turned east, and it was then he saw the first glimmer of daylight lingering on the horizon, sheltered by the curtain of darkness that was gradually fading like a dying candle. The twin moons were still visible in the brightening sky, though they were little more than dim silhouettes at this hour as they began to vanish solemnly. Marsh closed his eyes briefly as the morning winds grazed his scales, a feeling of refreshment passing over him. He eyed the fields below keenly, watching the vegetation sway to and fro in tandem with the breeze.

 _Freedom is a concept long since forgotten to me, but this certainly must be the next best thing_ , thought Marsh, silently admiring Morrowind's lush scenery as he greeted the morning.

Marsh's gaze shifted south, toward his homeland of Argonia. A melancholy sigh escaped him as he stared longingly at the misty, swampy forests looming in the far distance he had once called home, more than a decade ago. Images of his youth flooded his mind like a flowing river, memories of days long past that lingered within the deepest recesses of his mind. As the morning sun rose steadily on the horizon, Marsh found himself reminiscing about his previous life, before he had been captured and sold into slavery. Sometimes, these memories brought him great joy, and served as a source of motivation and strength for him to survive a hard day. But other times, such as now, those same memories only served to wound him like a knife, tormenting him relentlessly over everything he had lost. As Marsh stared onward, he almost swore he could hear his name being whispered through the distant trees, carried by the southern winds as his homeland called to him.

 _Perhaps someday, I shall return home, and once again_ _frolic in the vast swamps. Perhaps someday…_

Marsh shifted his gaze once more, his face soon contorting to a scowl as his eyes glared contemptuously at Drethen Manor.

 _If there was one sight in the entire world I could just erase forever._ Standing atop a wide, grassy plateau across the fields and hills, Drethen Manor overlooked the entire property like some dark, menacing shadow. No matter where one stood upon the plantation grounds, the black-stoned mansion was always within clear sight, inspiring a sense of dread within all the slaves of the plantation, to whom it served as a foreboding, sinister symbol of their unending oppression. Despite all the years he had been forced to look upon it, Drethen Manor was still no less an unpleasant sight to Marsh as it was the first time he saw it. The stones from which the enormous house was constructed appeared ancient, but were undoubtedly sturdy nonetheless. Several narrow spires jutted forth from the pointed rooftops. Long, arched windows lined the entirety of the mansion, complete with decorated balconies and terraces. Cobblestone walkways and patios spanned through a wide courtyard to the front entrance, secured behind metal gates. The manor itself was separated from the rest of the plantation area by a massive iron fence that was spiked along the top, and extended along the entire perimeter of the property, ensuring that no slave was ever able to leave the plantation. In addition, there were watchtowers placed along the edge of the fields that were always manned by several guards. Any slave daring enough to attempt an escape would be spotted long before they ever made it anywhere close to the fence.

Marsh could have probably counted on one hand the number of times he had actually seen his owner in person. Lord Alarys Drethen was quite well known for his reclusive nature, usually preferring to keep himself confined within his mansion, while the actual day-to-day supervision of his slaves was left to his guard captain, Malisarr. Lord Drethen himself rarely made an appearance upon the fields and pastures where the slaves actually worked, and when he did, it was certainly never seen as a good thing. Lord Drethen only showed himself when a slave had committed a dire offence, and he wanted to personally oversee the punishment. Marsh may only have laid eyes upon Lord Alarys a few times, but even that was enough for the Dunmer lord's cold, piercing stare to be forever ingrained into his mind. The sight of the slave-master was never pleasant, and for that, Marsh was at least thankful that those occurrences were very infrequent.

The loud, resounding toll of a bell pulled Marsh out of his thoughts and back to reality, nearly startling him right off the tree branch. Even after all the years of being forced to hear it every morning, Marsh did not detest any less the deafening chime that signaled it was time for all the slaves to awake. Every slave upon the Drethen plantation very quickly had come to learn to dread the harsh ring of that bell as it echoed far across the property every single morning, and for them, it served as yet another miserable part of their everyday lives.

 _And so begins yet another arduous day_ , Marsh thought to himself. _I suppose I better get down from here before the guards spot me_. The Argonian descended the tree just as swiftly as he had went up, and once he reached the ground, he started to make his way back over to the slave-pens.

Not long after the bell ceased its oppressive chime, Marsh watched as the hundreds of slaves in servitude to the Drethens began to pour outside like ants. Swarms of despondent faces met Marsh's eyes in a sea of sorrow as the captives filed together outside in the midst of the cold morning, despair and misery written across every one of them. The Drethens did not discriminate with whom they kept upon their plantation. Argonians, Khajiit, humans, and even the occasional elf were all fair game. Men, women, children, there was no one the Drethens would not enslave. To them, more slaves meant higher production on the plantation, and higher production of course, meant higher profits to fill their coffers. It truly sickened Marsh to see so many like himself stripped of their basic rights and liberties, and reduced to little more than a means to feed a greedy agenda that thrived on the exploitation and abuse of thousands, while their rich overlords brought in more gold each year than they would ever need.

Marsh's heart grew heavy as he watched a young Argonian mother trying to warm her shivering child. As he continued to stand in silence, casually listening to the glum chatter of his fellow slaves, Marsh found himself wondering what sort of lives each of these people led, before their capture. He wondered what their previous occupations might have been, how they made a living. He wondered what their aspirations were, their hopes and dreams. But most of all, Marsh wondered just how they came to end up here on the Drethen plantation. Exactly what cruel, unfortunate circumstances had saw fit to leave them here, trapped in such a wretched existence? What thoughts raced through each of their minds as they were being ripped away from everything and everyone familiar to them?

"Marsh," a voice called out. The Argonian turned around and gave a smile as he spotted K'Jhari heading his way.

"A fine morning to you, K'Jhari," Marsh greeted warmly to the Khajiit as he approached.

"And to you as well, dear friend," replied the feline. K'Jhari had always been easy to spot in a crowd. His black-grey fur set him apart from most of his kin, who were generally all lighter-skinned. What truly distinguished K'Jhari from everyone else however, was the patch of white fur centered on his forehead, shaped perfectly like a crescent moon.

"Hi Marsh!" a smaller voice called. Ashara, K'Jhari's little sister, came running towards him, and the two of them shared a friendly embrace.

"And a good morning to you, Ashara," Marsh smiled. Marsh's friendship with the Khajiit siblings was slightly unusual. It was no secret that there was generally little love between the two races, and that animosity did not dissipate even as they shared a life of captivity. Marsh had befriended the siblings early into their lives on the plantation, and from then on they tried to stick together whenever possible.

"You know, you're going to be as big as your brother someday," Marsh said to Ashara, and the kitten giggled. "I hope you are both well."

"Malisarr and his men came to our shack last night," K'Jhari answered. "They discovered that J'Rokir had stolen crops from the fields…" Marsh's imagination filled in the rest.

"By the Hist," said Marsh, wincing, "is he alright?"

"He will be," K'Jhari replied. "This one recommended against him trying that again."

"J'Rokir would be wise to heed that advice," Marsh stated. "Snatching a bit of extra food is never worth the punishment. Malisarr and his men watch this place like hawks."

"And what about you, dear friend?" K'Jhari asked. "How does your back feel?"

"Better, though still not fully recovered, I admit," Marsh replied with a chuckle. "Who would've guessed hauling a wagon full of crops by myself would throw my back out?"

"It is fortunate the guards were in a good enough mood to let you take the rest of the day off," said K'Jhari.

"Indeed, even if it was only because they saw the futility of trying to get me back to work in my condition," said Marsh. "I'm afraid it's probably still not a good idea for me to do anything too straining, if it can be avoided."

"Ah, this one hates to be the bearer of bad news, my friend," K'Jhari replied. "Before Malisarr left our shack, he mentioned his men had found an ebony mine, and that they were going to send a group of us up there this morning to begin clearing it out."

"You've _got_ to be joking," Marsh let out an exasperated sigh. "By the Hist, I'd rather plough a field any day of the week than work in a damned mine."

"This one wishes it was a joke, my friend," K'Jhari answered. "And look, here comes the guard captain himself to bring the good news directly."

No sooner had K'Jhari finished speaking, Marsh had turned his gaze and watched as Malisarr Orvethus marched his way over, with a squad of guards following closely behind him. The slaves of the Drethen plantation hastily fell into rank as they stood single file, as they were expected to every morning before the work day officially began.

"You better scurry off, little one," K'Jhari whispered to Ashara, giving his little sister a pet on the head. "You will be expected in the manor very soon. You certainly wouldn't want to be late."

"Okay, stay safe, brother," said Ashara, giving K'Jhari a warm hug.

"You too, Ashara. I'll see you tonight." K'Jhari gave his sister a kiss on her cheek before sending her off. He watched silently as Ashara made her way across the plantation to the gates of Drethen Manor, which were opened temporarily in the morning to let in the slaves who worked inside the mansion.

"Hey, you alright?" asked Marsh, laying a hand on K'Jhari's shoulder.

"This is the only life she's ever known," the Khajiit answered glumly, unable to suppress a tear. "This is no place for a small child. She deserves to be back home, amongst the sands of Elsweyr. What kind of a brother am I, who is too powerless to give her the life she deserves?"

"You can't beat yourself up over this, K'Jhari," Marsh said, trying to comfort the feline. "Despite the circumstances, you've always done your best by Ashara, and I know she's lucky to have such a caring brother. You know Ashara is better off than everyone else here, my friend. As Lady Drethen's chambermaid, nothing will ever happen to her, so long as she performs her duties."

"Yes, you're right. K'Jhari appreciates your kind words, Marsh," said the Khajiit, giving a smile.

All chatter came to a halt as Malisarr stood before the contingent of slaves. All eyes fell to the guard captain immediately as he stood silently, his burning glare and twisted, scarred visage striking fear into the gathered slaves.

 _Alarys Drethen's trained dog. What I would give for the chance to burn the rest of his face off._

"Listen up, scum!" Malisarr's harsh, guttural voice thundered in the air. "We have discovered an ebony mine, east of here. Lord Drethen desires the valuable ore contained in this mine, and has tasked me with ensuring it ends up in his hands. Fifty of you from this sorry lot will be chosen for this task. This project is expected to span well into the coming months, and I expect all who are selected to work until your bones feel like shattered glass. We will leave for the mine at every daybreak, and we will return to the plantation at dusk."

No one uttered a sound as the Dunmer captain spoke, snarling as he slowly paced across the line of slaves.

"I am sure this goes without saying, but I will make it clear just in case anyone decides to get any funny ideas," said Malisarr, his glaring eyes nearly as hideous as his charred face. "Anyone who tries to shirk their responsibilities, or in some other way tries to ruin this operation, will face severe punishment. Any of you provoke me, and I'll have you cursing your mother for ever bringing you into this world. I may not be allowed to kill any of you without my lord's permission, but I assure you, I will have you begging for death should you cross me. Lord Drethen has no time for tomfoolery, and I will tolerate none."

The gathered slaves remained silent. Marsh felt a knot as tight as a noose forming in his stomach. He found himself already dreading the long day ahead of him.

 _There's no doubt I'll be chosen to work the mine. If my back gives out again, they'll roast each of my scales one by one._

Malisarr gestured to the guards behind him. "Begin the selection process, and have them ready to leave in twenty minutes." The guards nodded in compliance to their captain. "For the rest of you maggots, you know your duties! Get to work!"

Just as he predicted, Marsh was among the first to be selected for the mining job, as was K'Jhari. The Khajiit and Argonian smirked at one another.

"Well, at least you and I will be in this together," said Marsh, his voice betraying his despair for what was to come.

"This one is not looking forward to spending every day toiling in a mine," said K'Jhari, letting out a depressed sigh. "This one thinks it would almost be a mercy if the mine were to collapse on top of us, and crush us all."

"I'm finding it hard to disagree, my friend," Marsh chuckled.

Once Malisarr's men had finished selecting the rest of the group to work the mine, the fifty who had been picked were ordered to form up by the gates exiting the plantation. They were then placed two-by-two into a line, and subsequently shackled together by their hands and feet, with each slave linked to the one next to them. Marsh and K'Jhari were locked together, and the Argonian cringed to himself as the clanking chain-rattle echoed inside his head.

Treads-Marshes looked up to the sunlit sky as daylight swept across the Drethen plantation. The Argonian savored the sight of the rising sun, his eyes never straying from the beautiful amber skies. Even as the gates creaked open and the slaves were hastily marched out in their chains, Marsh's gaze remained fixed as a stone to the vibrant sunlight as it illuminated the jade-green fields and forests, and bathed the land in its caressing warmth. Marsh relished this sight for as long as he possibly could, for he knew it was the only chance today he would be able to do so.


	4. Old Friends

Valarya Drethen gently lowered herself into the bath, taking a long breath of relaxation as the rising steam from the water filled her all throughout. The Dunmer woman momentarily shut her eyes as the fresh, hot bathwater caressed and soothed every inch of her, melting away all the accumulated stress and tension in her body like snow beneath a spring sun. This was the only instance all day that Valarya had truly gotten to relax and unwind at all, and she intended to cherish every second as she began to unburden her mind and free herself from the grip of all her cumbersome thoughts.

 _Hour after hour of replying to letters, managing orders, filling out tax forms, taking inventory, and all other sorts of tedious paperwork. A woman's work truly never is done,_ Valarya thought to herself, flexing the fingers of her right hand as her joints let out a soft crack. Sitting behind a desk since the crack of dawn had just about withered away the last of Valarya's mental fortitude. Even as she tried to relax, the grating sound of her pen scratching against the endless stacks of parchments echoed inside her mind, seemingly threatening to slowly erode her sanity.

Ashara, her Khajiit chambermaid, lit a fire in the hearth, and it was not long before the entire room became enveloped in the warmth of the flickering flames. The heat from the toasty fire, combined with the comfort of her cozy bath, helped the Dunmer ease herself as she began to feel her body and mind gradually becoming lighter as the stress inside her dissipated.

"Bring me my wine," Valarya ordered, gazing intently into the lit fire as it crackled and sparked.

"Yes, my lady," Ashara answered compliantly, scurrying with haste as she reached for the bottle of vintage Surilie Brothers wine imported from Cyrodiil that rested on the mantelpiece. Serving Lady Drethen's drinks was nothing new to Ashara. The Khajiit had the bottle opened in seconds, carefully pouring the expensive wine into a silver, jewel-encrusted chalice that's value was more than likely equal to the price which she had been purchased.

Valarya inspected the reddish-purple wine briefly, taking a lengthy sniff as she inhaled the sweet, subtle scent. Swirling the wine within the cup for but a moment, she finally took her first sip, letting out an exhale as the beverage licked her tongue and tingled her senses.

Valarya peered out the wide window to her left, staring peacefully into the young night as she took another swig of her wine. A thin veil of mist had drifted from the marshes to the south, partially obscuring the glowing rays of Masser and Secunda behind a shroud of grey. Stars flickered in the black moonlit sky, shimmering gaily like dancing fireflies within the ghostly haze. Valarya smiled faintly to herself as she surrendered her entire being into a state of bliss.

"Is my dress ready?" asked the Dunmer woman.

"Yes, my lady," Ashara answered, on cue. "It is hanging in your bedchamber, freshly cleaned and prepared for you."

"Very good," said Valarya, pleased enough.

"Do you need it for something special, my lady?" No sooner had the Khajiit girl finished speaking, did she realize her blunder.

"I did not give you leave to ask questions, _slave_!" Valarya's brusque reprimand nearly scared little Ashara right out of her fur. "My affairs are none of your concern, is that clear?"

"Y-yes, Lady Drethen," stammered Ashara, her voice shaking as she quivered. "It won't happen again, my lady."

"See that it doesn't."

Once Ashara was able to compose herself after a moment, she knelt behind the bath, taking hold of Valarya's hair in her hand. With the other hand, she poured some water all throughout the Dunmer's long, jet black tresses, carefully working her fingers through the soaked hair as she tried to unravel some of the tangles. Lathering a generous amount of soap in her paws, Ashara wasted no time as she began washing Valarya's thick hair, not speaking a word as she scrubbed and massaged her scalp with no small amount of care. Valarya continued to indulge in her wine, allowing herself to succumb to complete relaxation as she momentarily shut out the rest of the world.

Valarya was not particularly looking forward to tonight. Alarys had invited his longtime friend, Orvas Dren, to a formal dinner with them at their manor tonight. While her husband never gave her an explicit reason for the unexpected invitation, Valarya could certainly make a guess as to its origin. She knew it had to have something to do with that letter from the Empire Alarys had received the other day. Indeed, her husband had been able to think of little else since reading the letter from Lord-Commander Antorius. Valarya had never held any love towards the Camonna Tong kingpin, and she had been unable to discern exactly how Alarys expected him to be of any help with the Imperials. Lady Drethen did not relish the thought of dining with Orvas Dren, but she knew Alarys would insist on her presence. If Orvas could somehow be of use during this situation with the Empire, then Valarya figured she could at least tolerate the man for a night.

"Do you like stories, Ashara?" Valarya asked, a tad unexpectedly.

"Yes, my lady, very much," answered the Khajiit as she just started to rinse the soap from Valarya's hair. "My brother tells me a story every night, before I go to sleep."

"Are you familiar with the Battle of Red Mountain, and the disappearance of the Dwemer?"

"No, my lady," said Ashara, welcoming this sudden shift in their exchange.

"It is an old tale, passed through countless generations of Dunmer," stated Valarya. "There are several conflicting accounts of exactly what happened, and the one you'll hear will differ depending on who is telling you."

"The battle itself took place in the year seven hundred of the First Era," Valarya continued. "Morrowind, then called Resdayn, was occupied by two races. The Chimer, who were the predecessors to the Dunmer, and the Dwemer, also known as Dwarves. The two races lived together in peace for hundreds of years upon successfully repelling an army of Nord conquerors from Skyrim. Ruling the Chimeri was General Indoril Nerevar, and for the Dwemer, was King Dumac. The two rulers were dear friends for centuries, and it was through their efforts together that both races were able to prosper in this land."

"But that friendship was somehow broken?" Ashara inquired curiously.

"Quite correct," said Valarya. "Nerevar's closest ally and advisor, Voryn Dagoth, somehow learned that the Dwemer had located the heart of the god Lorkhan, deep beneath the crater of Red Mountain, and were plotting to use it to power a terrible machine of destruction. When Nerevar learned of this, he confronted Dumac with the knowledge, and this led to a bitter quarrel between them. The hostilities soon escalated, and Nerevar officially declared war upon his old friend to stop the Dwemer's scheme."

Ashara was gently scrubbing Valarya's shoulders and back as she listened keenly to her every word. The Khajiit couldn't tell what had brought on Valarya's sudden pleasantness, but she figured the best thing to do was simply listen silently.

"The war swept across Morrowind, both sides fighting fiercely," continued Valarya, with no shortage of enthusiasm in her voice. "The Dwemer unleashed armies of automated machines upon the Chimer, built deep within their underground fortresses and workshops. General Nerevar, on the other hand, was able to unite all the Great Houses of Morrowind, as well as the Ashlanders beneath his banner, something never before accomplished. They besieged King Dumac at his citadel within Red Mountain, where Lorkhan's heart was located."

"And what happened next?" asked Ashara eagerly.

"That is where the tale starts to become unclear," said Valarya. "It is most commonly believed that Nerevar led a force that included Lord Dagoth, inside Red Mountain to face Dumac. It is said that Nerevar and Dumac battled one another directly, both suffering terrible wounds. Nerevar emerged victorious, and it was at that moment, out of seemingly nowhere, that the entire Dwemer race completely disappeared."

"How does an entire race of people simply disappear?" asked Ashara, perplexed at what she had heard.

"It is believed that the Dwemer had constructed a set of tools, capable of harnessing the Heart of Lorkhan's power," said Valarya. "It has been strongly suggested that in a last, desperate attempt to sway the tide of battle, the Dwemer used the tools upon the heart, and it was this act that caused their disappearance. No one has been able to say for sure exactly what happened beneath Red Mountain, or even more curiously, if the Dwemer will ever reappear."

"What happened to Nerevar after all this?" asked Ashara.

"I'm afraid the details become even more distorted at this point," Valarya answered. "If the account of the Tribunal is to be believed, Nerevar left the Dwemer's tools with Voryn Dagoth inside Red Mountain, while he left to consult his advisors Vivec, Sotha Sil, and his wife Almalexia about what was to be done with the tools. When they returned to Red Mountain, Lord Dagoth refused to relinquish the tools to them, and a battle soon erupted between them. Dagoth was thought to be destroyed, and Nerevar soon perished from his own wounds, while his three advisors were left with the Dwemer's tools, which they used to make themselves gods, forming the current Tribunal that rules over Morrowind."

"That is a fascinating story, my lady," said Ashara, admittedly entertained by what Lady Drethen had told her.

"I believe that will be all for today," said Valarya. "You are dismissed."

"Yes, my lady, as you say," said Ashara, happy to be finished another day of work.

"Ashara," said Valarya, looking at the Khajiit girl.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Before you leave, feel free to take some extra food from the kitchen for you and your brother," said Valarya. "Should anyone question you, send them to me."

A smile swept across the little kitten's face. "Thank you, my lady! You are most kind."

"Away with you now," said Valarya, and with that, Ashara hurriedly scurried out of the room, leaving Valarya to enjoy her brief solitude before Orvas Dren's imminent arrival.

Valarya spent just a few more minutes in the bath, finishing the last drops of her wine while enjoying the peace and quiet. Finally stepping out of the water, she quickly dried herself off before making her way to the main bedchamber. Valarya did not spend nearly as long grooming herself as she would normally were this an occasion she was actually looking forward to. After quickly running a brush through her hair, she put on just a touch of perfume and makeup, before lastly donning her strapless, dark violet dress that she had picked out. Valarya gave herself a quick look over in the mirror resting on the vanity, subtly adjusting her dress while quickly running a finger through her hair.

 _There always has to be one strand that just never stays in place_. Pleased enough with her appearance, Valarya was soon on her way as she left the bedroom and headed downstairs.

A row of guards gave a long bow as Lady Drethen descended the main staircase to the foyer of the manor. Passing by the grand ballroom, Valarya took little more than a glance at the servants working away inside. She continued on through the wide, richly decorated corridors of the mansion with a brisk, confident stride. Countless exquisite paintings were plastered all along the walls of the hallways and most of the rooms, not the least of those being a portrait of Valarya herself that her husband had ordered to be made for her decades ago. The portrait was placed at the end of the hall, just outside the main parlor. While she liked the painting itself, Valarya always lamented that the artist had made her nose just slightly too big. Had it not have been a gift from her husband, she would have demanded the whole thing be redone while halving the artist's commission.

Alarys was already in the dining room when Valarya entered, staring outside the window as he paid no attention to the servants and slaves setting the table. Valarya could instantly smell the aroma of the dinner being prepared in the kitchens, reminding her of just how hungry she actually was.

"You look quite fetching tonight," Valarya complimented her husband, drawing his attention from the window.

"And you look ravishing, my love," said Alarys, giving his wife a faint smile. Valarya returned the smile, doing a small twirl as she walked over to him, and the Drethens shared a brief kiss.

"You're wearing the necklace I got you for your birthday," said Alarys, fiddling with said necklace in his fingers.

"Our anniversary, actually," Valarya corrected him. "The earrings you got for my birthday."

"Right, of course," said Alarys, his wife adjusting his collar.

"Is Orvas almost here?" asked Valarya.

"Yes, he is due to arrive any moment," Alarys replied. No sooner had Lord Drethen said that, a guard came marching into the dining room.

"My lord, Orvas Dren has just arrived," the guard announced. "He has been received at the front gate."

"Send him in," ordered Alarys.

"At once, my lord," obeyed the guard, hurrying away.

"Was inviting him to dinner really necessary?" asked Valarya.

"Were it anyone else, no," Alarys answered, "but Orvas and I go as far back as our childhoods, and I suspect he'll be able to help with our little situation with the Imperials, seeing as he hates them just as much as I do. It'll be easier to bum a favor when his stomach's full, I'm sure."

The guard from earlier soon returned, escorting the guest of honor to the dining room.

"Alarys Drethen, my old friend!" came the voice of Orvas Dren as he sauntered into the dining room. "How many years has it been?"

"Far too many, dear Orvas," Alarys replied. "I'm glad you could make it on such short notice." The two men shared a brief embrace.

"Anything for you, my friend," the head of the Camonna Tong answered. "So how've you been anyhow, you ol' bastard?"

"Well enough, sera," answered Alarys. "Certainly not getting any younger."

Orvas chuckled, and his gaze then shifted to Valarya, standing by the table.

"Lady Valarya, it is truly a pleasure to see you after all these years," said Orvas, making his way toward her. "You have grown more beautiful since last I saw you." Orvas gave her a kiss on the hand, followed by a short embrace, which Valarya reluctantly returned.

 _If you weren't a close friend of my husband, I'd have you whipped for touching me._

"The pleasure is mine, Orvas," said Valarya, forcing a smile.

"Have a seat, my friend," said Alarys, "dinner will be served shortly."

"Don't mind if I do," replied Orvas. The three Dunmer promptly took their seats at the long dining table. Alarys sat at the head of the table, with Orvas sitting directly opposite at the other end. Valarya sat just a few seats down from her husband's right.

"A drink while we wait?" offered Alarys.

"I'd fancy a glass of whiskey right about now," said Orvas, "and none of that imported piss they try to pass off as liquor."

"I'm of a mind with you," said Alarys. The Dunmer snapped his fingers, and a nearby servant scurried off to fetch their drinks. He returned only seconds later with whiskey for the men, and wine for Valarya. The woman took a long sip of the wine the second the servant had finished pouring it into her glass.

"Light a fire," Alarys ordered the servant, and he promptly complied as he lit the massive stone hearth across the table.

"Anything else you require, my lord?" asked the servant.

"No. Leave us." The servant bowed before doing as he was bade.

"How fared your journey here, Orvas?" asked Alarys, taking his first sip of his drink.

"Well enough, apart from nearly getting mobbed by a swarm of cliff racers in one instance," Orvas replied. "It's a shame I don't get to travel to the mainland more often. Vvardenfell has been plagued with endless ash storms and widespread droughts the last month. Vivec City has become overrun with foreigners, and is little more than an eyesore to me at this point. I've always been fond of Tear, and the lands surrounding it."

Dinner was finally brought in just then, served by Khajiit slaves. Valarya's stomach gave a growl as she eyed the food laid before her on a silver plate. She took another swig of wine before carefully cutting off a morsel of the juicy roast pheasant, accompanied by a mouthful of warm bread. Looking over, she could see Orvas had already dug right into his food, with seemingly little regard for table manners.

"You really let those fur-bags prepare your meals?" asked Orvas, taking a chug of his whiskey.

"Should I not?" Alarys replied.

"I'm always worried about finding clumps of cat hair in my food," Orvas replied with a snicker. "But I suppose that's better than them damned scalebacks, who'll just drool all over it."

Valarya rolled her eyes, while Alarys seemingly paid no mind to the remark.

"How's business been?" Alarys inquired.

"Difficult, I must admit," answered Orvas. "The Empire has been coming down hard on the skooma and moon sugar trade. Many of my suppliers have been taken out of action, forcing me to drive up my prices, which means my customer base has been slowly dwindling. Shipments are constantly getting seized, and my forces are spread thin trying to keep the Imperials at bay while also trying to keep the councilors in check."

"It seems there's nothing the Empire won't stick their nose into," said Alarys. "It sickens me to see them destroy everything this country stands for, and all the while they have the impudence to piss on our heads and tell us it's raining. Hordes of outlanders swarm these lands every day, and the Imperials expect us to simply watch as Morrowind slowly erodes."

"It must be added insult to injury for you, with your own son having joined up with the Imperial Legion," said Orvas. Alarys shot a glower at the Camonna Tong leader, and Valarya's heart skipped a beat as the room suddenly fell silent.

If there was ever one instance where Lady Drethen truly feared her husband, it was the day their only son announced his intentions to enlist in the Imperial Legion. Alarys's rage had been comparable to an erupting Red Mountain, and Valarya genuinely feared that Alarys would kill him right there and then. Since that day, only a suicidal person would have dared to mention their son in Alarys's presence.

"Serys chose his path long ago," said Alarys, his voice relatively calm, much to Valarya's surprise. "I gave him everything growing up, and in return, he blatantly shamed me, and disgraced my name."

 _That's the first time Alarys has spoken our son's name in ages,_ thought Valarya, tracing her finger along the rim of her wine glass.

"The only thing that fool shares with me now is the name Drethen, and I would strip _that_ from him if I could," said Alarys. Valarya shifted uncomfortably in her seat, taking a generous mouthful of wine in the hope it would somehow make this night end sooner.

"I have a favor to ask of you, old friend," Alarys spoke again, deciding to finally get to the point. "Admittedly, that is part of the reason I invited you."

"Your letter to me mentioned as much," said Orvas. "What troubles you, Alarys?"

"I received a letter from Vicentus Antorius the other night," Alarys explained. "It would seem the Lord-Commander is quite insistent on the release of my slaves, and he was even graceful enough to threaten me. He seems to have it in his head that fields plough themselves, and crops grow by singing to them."

"The Imperials have their heads shoved so far up their arses it's a wonder they can see two inches in front of them," Orvas remarked. "So just what exactly can I do to help, friend?"

"It's no secret that you have extensive influence within House Hlaalu, and that they have been in bed with the Empire for several years," said Alarys. "I don't suppose there is any way you could use your connections to somehow get the Imperials off my back. As much as I hate to admit it, the Empire does have the power to greatly hinder my entire operation."

"Vicentus Antorius is an important man within the Legion," Orvas stated. "Certainly not someone you'd want as your enemy. I might be able to get the Imperials off your case, but know that I'll most likely have to call in several favors, in addition to the usual bribes, blackmail, and maybe even the occasional blood spill."

"I know it's foolish to ask," said Alarys, "but I don't suppose you could speak to your brother?" Orvas merely chortled.

"You know as well as I that my dear brother, the Duke of Vvardenfell, is in neck-deep with the Empire," Orvas answered. "Vedam would never dare risk his cozy position by interfering with the Empire's wishes. In fact, I suspect it is none other than he that has been harassing my business as of late. And let us not forget my own niece is the leader of the slavery abolitionist movement in Vvardenfell."

"Anything you could do to help, Orvas, would be greatly appreciated," said Alarys.

"And I am only too happy to help out a dear friend," said Orvas. "I will see what I can do."

"Thank you, Orvas."

"I will need something from you in return, dear Alarys," said Orvas, "as much as I am enjoying this dinner."

"I thought as much."

"The other day, I sent a boat containing a large shipment of skooma bound for Seyda Neen," Orvas explained, "only, the boat never arrived. Come to find out, the shipment was seized by the East Empire Company, and they are currently keeping it within one of their warehouses. I need that shipment out of there post-haste, before they decide to take a closer look at what they seized. I would deal with this myself, but the Camonna Tong is spread thin as I said already, and I cannot spare the men as it is."

Alarys pondered his friend's words for a moment.

"I can speak with some of the other councilors of my House," said Alarys, "perhaps convince them to lend me a small force to secure your shipment."

"I have a better idea," said Valarya, speaking for the first time since this dinner had begun.

"What do you propose, my lady?" asked Orvas, curiously.

"It's simple, really," said Valarya. "I have several letters from the head of the East Empire Company in Morrowind, and, fortunately for us, I happen to be a talented forger. Mimicking his handwriting and signature should not prove overly difficult. I'll draft a letter to those holding your shipment, impersonating their boss, demanding its immediate release. Your skooma will reach its destination, with no bloodshed involved, and by the time the East Empire Company realizes they've been duped, if they even do, it'll be far too late."

"My lady, I would be forever indebted to you," said Orvas, gratefully. "You would truly do this for me?"

"Of course. I would not have offered otherwise," said Valarya.

"You have my deepest thanks, Valarya," said Orvas.

Valarya had eaten just about all she had room for. Finishing the last of her wine, she slumped back in her seat and placed a hand on her full stomach. She was feeling slightly tipsy from the wine, and she could feel herself growing sleepy.

"Would I be pushing my luck if I ran one more thing by you, Alarys?" asked Orvas, breaking the momentary silence.

"Not at all," Lord Drethen replied.

"Nothing is currently set in stone," Orvas began, "but there may come a time when my brother, Vedam, might need to be… _removed_ from the picture."

"We grew up as children, Orvas," Alarys replied. "Are you certain you would wish to undertake such a drastic measure?"

"I do still hold some semblance of love for my elder brother, believe it or not," said Orvas, "but…well, I do not wish to discuss this here to be perfectly honest. Perhaps we can speak over a game of billiards?"

"As you wish, my friend," said Alarys. "I've longed for the chance to beat you again."

"As I have longed for the chance to lose to you," said Orvas. "Will you be joining us, Valarya?"

"I think not," the woman answered. "I'm weary, and I need to rest."

"I'll have a guest bedroom prepared for you, Orvas," said Alarys.

"Many thanks, my friend," said Orvas. "I bid you good night, Valarya." With that, the Dunmer men stood up from the table, leaving Valarya alone in the dining room as they made for the parlor.

Lady Drethen left the dining room herself not long after. The servants had returned and began cleaning up the plates and silverware. Valarya had no desire to remain here with them, and so she made her way back upstairs.

Upon returning to the master bedroom, Valarya immediately discarded her dress, tossing it carelessly to the floor. She slipped into her favorite black silk nightgown before lighting a small fire, and spent a moment warming herself by the flames. Once she was cozy enough, Valarya took a seat behind the oak desk across the room, opening several of the drawers as she sifted through the stacks of old letters and documents.

 _I know there's a letter from the East Empire Company's head honcho here somewhere_. Valarya considered leaving this task for tomorrow, but considering the amount of work she would undoubtedly have on her plate already, she thought it better to just get it done and over with now. Besides, Alarys would likely be up half the night with Orvas Dren, and this was just the chance Valarya needed to enjoy some much needed quiet time.

Finding what she was looking for at last, Valarya laid the letter upon the desk, which she planned to use as a reference as she forged the new letter ordering the release of Orvas's shipment. Putting on her spectacles, Valarya began to study the handwriting of the letter closely, paying close attention to the precise shapes, curves and general contour of the words, taking note of the smooth flow and delicate intricacies of the individual letters themselves. The signature would be the hardest part to replicate, but with just a bit of care, it would pose no problem for Valarya. After a few more minutes, she grabbed a blank parchment and set it in front of her, dipping her pen into the ink as she got to work.

Valarya's eyes shifted continuously back and forth between the two documents as she carefully crafted each word, with each letter bearing perfect resemblance to the handwriting she was copying. The woman's hand glided almost effortlessly across the page, her pen swirling and curving elegantly as if it were a dancer. Once that was done, all that was left was to make the official seal, which would stop most forgers at this point, but Lady Drethen was not most forgers. Like a wizard working a spell, Valarya carefully molded and shaped the dab of wax as she pressed it to the page, and before she knew it, the document bore a more perfect seal than even the East Empire Company themselves could ever make.

Valarya grinned to herself as she took a minute to admire her handiwork, holding the perfectly crafted, and completely counterfeit letter in front of her face. She had no doubt in her mind whatsoever this would see Orvas Dren's shipment released, and the East Empire Company would be utterly unsuspecting to the orders being fabricated.

 _The things I do to keep this plantation running. I'd say this has earned me another drink of wine._ Valarya stored the letter safely inside the desk drawer before making her way to the liquor cabinet. Wine in hand, Valarya initially reached for a glass, but decided to just enjoy it straight from the bottle.

It was just past midnight when Valarya stepped outside onto the balcony. All was silent across the vast land, an eerie fog looming in the air, drifting through the nightly shadows like a haunting specter. Trees rustled softly in the distance as crickets chirped in the grass. Valarya stood by her lonesome, watching the glittering stars in fixation, serenity filling her all throughout as she basked in the beautiful night. A cool breeze sent a relaxing chill through her, small goosebumps forming on her bare arms. There was truly little more she could ask for on a night as perfect as this.

Taking the last sip of her wine, Valarya Drethen shut her eyes, listening to the soft breath of the wind, and it was all she could do to keep from falling asleep right there and then.


	5. The Heroic Fool

K'Jhari's muscles throbbed inside of him as he chipped away at the rock, each swing of his pickaxe more strenuous and exhausting than the last. The Khajiit took but only the briefest of moments to catch his breath and wipe off the puddles of sweat that stuck to his black fur like slime. Anything longer than a few seconds of rest, and he risked feeling the searing sting of the whip across his back. K'Jhari had already bore witness several times to what happened to those caught slacking off, and he certainly had no desire to feel their pain.

Chunks of rock split off into the air as K'Jhari swung his pickaxe again. The strike was much more forceful than intended, and K'Jhari had actually managed to get the axe itself stuck and embedded inside the rock. A few seconds of tugging later, the Khajiit was able to wrench the axe free, but not before he splintered and cut his hands from the chipped handle. That short ordeal had sapped all of K'Jhari's energy, and the feline had to rest yet again, leaning against the rocks for support.

"You're stopping too much, K'Jhari," said a concerned Treads-Marshes, who was toiling away right beside him. "Malisarr or his men catch you not working, and you'll be feeling much worse pain than the one in your hands."

"I know," K'Jhari replied with a hiss of frustration, "but we've been working for hours now, and still we have not been allowed to have a break. This one is not sure how much more of this he can take." Even the mere act of speaking those words drained K'Jhari's strength. Every inch of his body seemed to be screaming in sheer agony, his bones and muscles growing more brittle by the second, feeling as if they could fracture at any moment. His hands ached mercilessly from the recoil he felt with every strike of his axe, and his fingers were so stiff from gripping the handle that they nearly felt frozen solid. K'Jhari did not retract his earlier sentiment of the mine collapsing upon him being a mercy. In fact, he would not have been surprised in the least if that very thought lingered within the minds of every one of his fellow slaves here with him now. Anything that would provide any sort of reprieve or escape from this endless, torturous work would be all too welcome at this point, but K'Jhari somehow doubted that the threads of fate would be so kind.

For K'Jhari, the worst part about being forced to toil in a mine from dawn till dusk wasn't the grueling, punishing, and repetitive work he had to endure for hours on end. It wasn't the persistent aching and soreness that wracked his entire body, making him feel as if he were being crushed by a monstrous boulder. It wasn't the thick, coarse fumes that lingered in the dry air with their vulgar stench every second of the day, or the pungent clouds of ash and soot that smothered his lungs. For K'Jhari, the part about all this that filled him with the most dread, was that time itself seemed to slow to a grinding halt. The young Khajiit soon found that one hour had become indistinguishable from the rest, in his mind. Each minute became more monotonous and insipid than the one preceding. As far as he was concerned, the rest of the world might as well have been completely erased from existence. Ever since K'Jhari had been selected to work this ebony mine, he almost never even got to see the sun at all, save for the early morning. Being shut away in this mine all day long had made keeping track of the hours all but impossible, and the more time K'Jhari was forced to spend down here, working almost nonstop, the more he began to question if time was even truly passing at all.

Pickaxe in hand again, K'Jhari continued on with his work. The Khajiit wasn't certain how much longer he could bear the grating echo of metal clashing against rock. Hardly a single word was ever uttered down here, save for the guards barking their slurs and reprimands at anyone they deemed to not be pulling their weight. K'Jhari gazed around the mine at his fellow slaves, each and every one of their faces beset by the same dreariness and depression that festered in every inch of the mine like some disease.

For the past several days, the slaves that had been brought here had been tasked with clearing away the enormous piles of rock that had collapsed when the mine caved in however long ago. This may have been an ebony mine, but not a single trace of any ebony itself had actually been discovered yet, as all the ore deposits were completely blocked from access beyond the heaps of rubble. To make matters worse, the mine itself was quite large and extensive, and the walls of debris stretched across the entire width of the underground mining complex. The slaves had been arranged in a straight line as they worked, making it rather convenient for the guards to keep close supervision on the whole group at all times. From the moment they arrived, the slaves were worked and grinded to the bone. The guards did not ever permit them to stop, save for a few designated breaks that were spread throughout the day. The workday ended when the skies were fully dark, and the moons already in clear view, and that was when the slaves would be marched back to the plantation grounds in their shackles, no different than to how they arrived in the morning, and the whole thing would repeat the next day. For K'Jhari, to describe the days as long would be a grave injustice. The work itself was never any less backbreaking for him than the day before, and when at long last the guards decided the workday was finally over, the Khajiit had to muster all his remaining strength just to make the march back.

"You know what's funny about all this?" K'Jhari asked Marsh, after an extended silence.

"I'm amazed you are able to find anything funny, given our circumstances, my friend," Marsh remarked.

"This entire operation is completely illegal," K'Jhari continued. "The East Empire Company has a monopoly on raw ebony, possessing the sole right to mine and trade it. This one is curious as to the consequences were any officials within the Empire to learn what is taking place here. This is a direct affront to Imperial law."

"Quite true, my friend," said Marsh. "But what you have to remember, is most of the Empire's control in Morrowind is centered in Vvardenfell. All the land spanning the next several miles is directly owned by Alarys Drethen, and the Empire could not be less welcome in House Dres territory as it stands. If the Imperials did somehow find out about this mine, I suspect there would be little they could actually do if they wanted to pursue claiming it. Still, considering the lengths the elves are going to keep this mine hidden, it is obvious they would still rather keep it under the Empire's nose."

"Whatever the case, it matters little to us," K'Jhari replied. "We're still stuck down here in this dusty mine in the middle of nowhere, forced to work until we die of exhaustion. Khajiit never thought he would say this, but working the fields almost feels like a pleasure, compared to this."

"I once robbed a mine many years ago, back in my days as a…troublemaker," said Marsh, letting out a grunt as his axe split a large chunk of rock. "It was over in Cyrodiil, not terribly far from Leyawiin. It was a group of four or five of us, including my little sister."

"This one did not know you had a sister, Marsh," said K'Jhari.

"The mine was lightly guarded, and there was only a small handful of workers," Marsh continued. "We took everyone by surprise, and we were able to disarm the few Legionnaires that were there. The whole thing took less than five minutes, and we made off with pretty well all the ore they had dug. The payout was nothing to scoff at, seeing as it lasted us pretty well a whole month."

K'Jhari couldn't help but chuckle as Marsh finished his story. "And now here you are."

"Here I am," said Marsh, returning the chuckle. "Fate certainly seems to be repaying me in full."

The minutes passed in relative silence. K'Jhari tried his best to pace himself as he worked, in an attempt to conserve his energy, but his efforts seemed to be for naught. His body felt as delicate as a tree branch, ready to snap at any moment's notice. The Khajiit would occasionally steal a quick glance at the other slaves, and they certainly seemed to be faring no better. K'Jhari's stomach gave a pained growl as it begged him for even the tiniest morsel of food. His throat was so dry and parched from thirst he almost swore it would shrivel at any moment.

 _They must let us have a break soon_ , thought K'Jhari. _They simply must._

"Just how far down do you think this mine goes?" K'Jhari asked Marsh. The Argonian did not answer

"Marsh?" K'Jhari looked over, noticing that his friend's attention was completely preoccupied from his work. "Marsh, get back to work." The Argonian still gave no response. His gaze had clearly been drawn to something, and as K'Jhari began to look in the same direction, it did not take him long to see what.

Malisarr and three of his guards were surrounding a young Imperial woman, backing her right into a tight corner. K'Jhari could only faintly make out their voices, but the look of fear written across her face made her distress all too evident.

"There's no way this can be good," said Marsh. The Imperial woman's clearly increasing panic, along with the snickering of the guards only reinforced his statement. K'Jhari was well aware that Lord Drethen possessed a deep, seething hatred of all Imperials. It was no secret that the slave-lord relished every opportunity to get his hands on any Imperial he possibly could to serve upon his plantation, and the Dunmer was all too proud of every one he had managed to acquire. Imperial slaves upon the Drethen estate were treated even more cruelly by the guards, generally being regarded as lower than even Khajiit and Argonians. Knowing this, K'Jhari could only wait with bated breath, his heart beating faster inside him as he looked on nervously, dreading this girl's fate.

Marsh was growing visibly more troubled as well. None of the other slaves seemed to be paying much attention to the commotion, likely in fear that the same would happen to them. K'Jhari began to feel the same way, despite how much he might have wanted to do something to help. This situation troubled him greatly, but he wasn't about to provoke the Dunmer guards and risk punishment for a complete stranger.

"We should get back to work, Marsh," said the Khajiit, with a hint of remorse. He attempted to return his attention to the task at hand. The voices of the guards grew louder and more heated, and the Imperial woman was at the point of tears. Just then, K'Jhari saw one of the guards reach out his hand to grope the girl, and she responded with an aggressive shove. That same guard then retaliated with a sharp blow right to her face, and the girl gave a pained cry as she dropped to the ground, blood spewing from her nose.

Marsh threw down his pickaxe and stormed over to the escalating scene.

"Marsh, what are you doing?!" K'Jhari hissed. "Are you mad?! Get back here! Marsh!" If Marsh heard the Khajiit's pleas, he paid them no heed. K'Jhari felt his heart stop inside his chest as he could only wait and see as to how this would play out.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Marsh demanded, stopping only mere feet from Malisarr and his men. K'Jhari stealthily moved a bit closer to better observe the scene.

"Bugger off, scaleback! This is of no concern to you," barked Malisarr, shifting his fiery gaze to the Argonian.

"I broke my pickaxe, by accident," the Imperial woman replied, clutching her bleeding nose. Her eye had already begun to swell from where she had been struck.

"If she ain't got an axe, that means she can't work," said Malisarr, "and if she can't work, that means she gets punished." The Dunmer gave a sickening sneer as the woman still lay against the corner, sobbing profusely.

"You can't _possibly_ be serious!" Marsh nearly screamed. "You can hardly blame her for the shoddy quality of these axes. If she broke hers, then simply give her a new one and be done with it. There is absolutely no need for this despicable behavior!"

"When I have need for a _slave_ to instruct me on how to do my job, I will tell him," Malisarr retorted, staring daggers into the Argonian. "You have work to do, lizard. I would strongly suggest returning to your task, before you say something you'll regret."

The heated exchange had begun to draw the attention of the other slaves, their eyes shifting to Marsh and Malisarr, not uttering a single word as they watched closely. K'Jhari grew more fearful by the second of what could happen to Marsh. If the Argonian didn't mind his tongue, he soon very well might not have one.

 _Don't anger him, Marsh. Stop this right now if you know what's good for you._

"It was a simple mistake, Malisarr. Please don't do this," Marsh was practically begging. "You don't need to hurt this woman."

"One more word out of you, scaleback, and you'll have a bloody nose of your very own!" the Dunmer captain growled. "Stand the girl up and hold her against the wall. She gets five lashes across the back, and no water for the rest of the day!" Malisarr's men promptly complied, and the girl cried and struggled as she was hoisted from the ground by her arms. She was slammed against the rock wall, with her back facing outward. Malisarr reached for his whip, smiling with sickening glee.

"Harm a single hair upon her, and you're going to have a pickaxe buried in your skull," Marsh hissed.

The mine fell silent.

The jaw of every slave dropped to the ground at that moment, all of them watching in absolute stunned silence at what they had heard. Marsh stood his ground as Malisarr slowly approached him, his eyes burning pure fire.

"What. Did you. Just. Say?" Malisarr snarled, his face only inches from Marsh's. The scars and burns that marred the Dunmer's flesh somehow managed to look even more hideous and repugnant than ever before. K'Jhari and the rest of the slaves could only continue to look on with pure trepidation and dread at what was transpiring. Marsh himself, however, did not falter for a second.

"I won't let you hurt her, Malisarr," said Marsh, sternly, meeting the Dunmer's stare. "I won't let you-"

Malisarr shoved Marsh against the wall, clutching the Argonian's neck in a death grip. Marsh struggled to free himself, but his efforts soon proved futile as he began gasping for air.

 _It was nice knowing you, dear Marsh,_ thought K'Jhari.

"And just how do you plan to stop me, hmm?" growled Malisarr. "Last I checked, _I_ was the one in charge here. Or has your dumb little lizard brain forgotten that? Perhaps I need to break a few of your bones to make you remember?" Malisarr's scowl contorted even more deeply, but Marsh was only laughing, despite literally having the life strangled from him.

"Your master…must truly be a great fool to have…h-hired you," said Marsh, his voice hoarse and weak from Malisarr's grip around his throat.

"Do you know what my armor is made from, lizard?" said Malisarr, barely louder than a whisper, but the ferocity in his words could have still collapsed the entire mine all the same. "You ever dare to insult my lord again, and I will personally flay you alive, scale-by-scale, and make you watch as I have my cuirass reforged with your own flesh added to it."

"Clearly you've forgotten…what happened…last time you overly punished one of my kin," said Marsh, still trying to squirm free from Malisarr's grip. "How many times…does your lord need to cut your pay, before you stop…incapacitating his slaves?" Malisarr said nothing, but his fingers remained clenched around the Argonian's throat.

"The more time you…waste with…this, the less work that gets accomplished," said Marsh, struggling desperately for a breath. "Do you think…Lord Drethen will be pleased about that?" Malisarr was still visibly fuming, his snarl more hideous than even the most grotesque monster. "Take me out of action…and your lord might just…throw _you_ in here in my stead." K'Jhari was only waiting for the Dunmer captain to strangle the Argonian to death. Marsh was writhing and panting fiercely as he still tried to break himself free. Remarkably, however, Malisarr came to his senses, and he let go of Marsh's throat.

"Consider yourself lucky, lizard," Malisarr snarled, still staring with wrath at the Argonian. "Your words have saved you…this time." Marsh had collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping violently as he tried to catch his breath.

"But I'm sorry to say," continued Malisarr, "that the Imperial lass will not be so fortunate. She will be punished, all the same." The Dunmer gestured to his guards still holding the girl against the wall.

"Malisarr, no. Please!" begged Marsh, slowly standing back to his feet. "What you're doing isn't right. Please, stop this."

"Lord Drethen doesn't pay me to do what's right!" shouted Malisarr. "He pays me to keep order on his estate, and punish his slaves when they make mistakes. I couldn't care less about what's right. Now, quit stalling this any longer than you already have. The girl's punishment _will_ be carried out." Malisarr clutched his whip, his sadistic sneer returning to his face.

"You can't do this, Malisarr," said Marsh, still persisting. "Please, you can't do this." The Dunmer looked like he was just about ready to explode. The guard captain approached the Argonian again, and K'Jhari was certain that Marsh had just spoken his last words.

"Very well. Have it your way," said Malisarr, to everyone's astonishment. K'Jhari could hardly believe what he had just heard.

"What?" said Marsh, also surprised. "You…you mean…"

"You win, lizard," answered Malisarr. "I will not punish the girl." Marsh's expression displayed apprehensive relief, but the Imperial girl was about to start crying tears of joy.

Malisarr sneered again, and handed the whip to Marsh.

" _You_ will." K'Jhari's heart froze.

"No…no, I won't," said Marsh, trembling as he eyed the whip in Malisarr's hand. "I won't!"

"And just why not, lizard?" snarled Malisarr. "You seem to be quite adamantly against me punishing her, and I am offering you the opportunity for that not to happen. The lass will suffer much less if the whip is in your hand. Surely you must see this for the act of mercy that it is."

"You're a monster!" Marsh bellowed. "A callous, sadistic monster. If _this_ is mercy, then cruelty does not exist."

"I have offered an alternative solution to you, and yet you continue to annoyingly deride me," said Malisarr. "Very well, if this is your choice, then stand aside, and cease wasting my time." The captain nodded to his guards, and the Imperial girl was crying and screaming again as she was forced against the wall.

"There's another way," said Marsh.

Malisarr stopped again. "You test my patience, scaleback. The girl will be punished, whether it be by my hand, or yours. There isn't going to _be_ another way. I suggest you get that through your head already."

Marsh closed his eyes, taking a long, exasperated breath.

"I will take the punishment, Malisarr," said Marsh. All eyes pointed to the Argonian.

"Marsh, no!" K'Jhari couldn't help screaming out. He fell silent again right after, but the Khajiit wasn't sure how much longer he could stand to witness what was happening before him.

"What did you say?" asked Malisarr, his expression betraying his bewilderment.

"You heard me," said Marsh, his voice shaking just the slightest, but no less unwavering. "I will suffer the punishment in the Imperial's stead. If you insist on this mindless cruelty, then inflict it upon me. Just leave the girl alone."

No one spoke a word. No one moved a muscle. The dreaded, ominous silence that pervaded through the mine was almost cause to make K'Jhari lose his mind. More and more, the Khajiit could not shake the nagging feeling inside of him that he should step in and help his friend. His cowardice kept him in line, however, and K'Jhari began to feel ashamed that he was effectively letting down his closest friend.

Malisarr's roaring laughter soon broke the silence.

"Well, aren't you just the noble hero," mocked the Dunmer. "You're a bigger fool than I initially thought." Marsh never broke his gaze from Malisarr's disfigured visage.

"Very well," said Malisarr, looking to his guards. "Release the girl, and get her a new axe." The Dunmer turned his gaze back to Marsh. "Up against the wall, lizard. I want to enjoy this." Marsh complied, and two guards held him by his arms.

"Hold him straight," ordered Malisarr. The Dunmer captain struck the ground several times with the whip, causing Marsh to flinch as the guards firmly held him in place. Malisarr chuckled, and stood directly behind the Argonian, tightening his hold of the whip.

K'Jhari turned his head away, placing his hand over his eyes.

When the first slice of the whip came, Marsh let out not a single sound. The second elicited a grunt from the Argonian, but it was clear he wasn't going to give Malisarr the satisfaction of screaming. K'Jhari might not have been watching his friend's punishment unfold, but the sharp snap of Malisarr's whip threatened to send back up what little food was in the Khajiit's stomach. The third and fourth whips were delivered in quick succession, and Marsh's brief cry nearly brought K'Jhari to tears.

 _Marsh, you bloody fool. You brave, bloody fool_.

There was a significant delay before the fifth, and final strike. K'Jhari knew it could only be because Malisarr was mustering all his strength, preparing to pour every ounce of fury and malice into this strike. The insurmountable pressure building inside the quivering Khajiit's chest had nearly become too much for him to bear. He could almost feel every part of him being crushed beneath the immense weight, threatening to crumble his very soul within. Tears flooded from his eyes, which the Khajiit did not even bother trying to suppress. All K'Jhari wanted was for this horrific day to be over already.

When the final slice of the whip was delivered, Marsh's cry almost made K'Jhari wish he didn't have ears. The Khajiit had to grab hold of the rocks to keep from falling over as his spinning head grew light and queasy. K'Jhari turned back around that moment, just in time to watch the Argonian collapse to the ground as the guards released him. He rushed over to his friend without a second's hesitation.

"Marsh!" the Khajiit cried, kneeling at the Argonian's side. "Marsh, are you alright?" K'Jhari looked up to see Malisarr and his men still standing over them.

"You are brave, Argonian. I'll give you that," said Malisarr, handing his whip to one of the other guards. "Never in all my years of serving on Lord Drethen's estate, have I seen such an act. I don't know if you were merely trying to play the hero, or if you truly are the biggest fool that ever lived."

Marsh was probably in too much pain to respond. K'Jhari did his best to comfort his friend as he held him close, but he knew there was little he could actually do in the way of easing Marsh's agony.

"It's time for a break!" shouted Malisarr, before gesturing to his guards. "Make sure everyone gets food and water. Everyone gets fifteen minutes to rest, and then it's back to work!" The guard captain then headed for the exit of the mine, leaving the shaken slaves to their brief moment of reprieve.

"Can you sit up, Marsh?" K'Jhari asked.

"Yeah I…I think so," Marsh winced, grunting from the burning sting of the whip. "How bad does it look?" K'Jhari gently lifted his tunic, nearly retching when he laid eyes on the gaping red slashes upon the Argonian's back.

"It's bad," K'Jhari answered.

"Well, so much for my back getting better," said Marsh, managing to release a chuckle. "Funny enough, I can't help but agree with Malisarr. Was I a hero? Or simply a damned fool?"

"It doesn't matter, Marsh," K'Jhari replied. "That was certainly the most heroic thing this one has ever seen. To do that for someone else takes immense courage. This one admires you, my friend." Just then, K'Jhari could see the Imperial woman whom Marsh had saved making her way over to them.

"Hey, you alright?" she asked softly, kneeling beside Marsh and K'Jhari.

"Besides my back feeling like it's being ripped open, yeah, just fine," Marsh quipped with a laugh.

"Listen, I know there's no words in the world that can thank you enough," said the girl, her voice making clear her guilt for what Marsh had gone through. "What you did for me…I'll never be able to repay you."

"Think nothing of it, young one," said Marsh, with a hint of a smile. "I couldn't stand there and watch that mad dog punish you, when you had done nothing wrong. It just…wouldn't have been right."

"Well, you have my deepest thanks, Argonian," said the Imperial.

"Please, call me Marsh."

"I'm Arlena."

"A pleasure to meet you, Arlena."

"This one is K'Jhari."

"Nice to meet you both, though I wish the circumstances were better," said Arlena. "Is there anything at all I can do for you, Marsh?"

"How about not breaking your pickaxe again?" quipped Marsh, and the three of them shared a laugh. "How are you holding up? It looked like that guard hit you pretty hard."

"I'll survive," the girl replied, "though I suppose I really can't complain, considering that _I_ was supposed to be the one getting whipped."

"Well, I was only too happy to help," remarked the Argonian.

"I've seen you two around the fields before, at different times," said Arlena. "And sometimes there's a younger Khajiit with you."

"My little sister, Ashara," K'Jhari replied. "She's Valarya Drethen's handmaiden."

"Sounds better than being stuck down here all day," said Arlena. "How long have you two been here at the plantation?"

"Six years," K'Jhari answered.

"I've lost count," said Marsh.

"It's been just under a year since I was brought here," said Arlena. "My father and I ran a merchant caravan here in Morrowind. We were just on our way back to Mournhold, and there was a squad of Imperial Legion soldiers escorting us. Then, out of literally nowhere, our convoy was ambushed by what turned out to be Dunmer slavers. All were killed, save for me. The slavers captured me, and next thing I know, I'm being brought here in a prison wagon with countless others who had been captured as well."

"By the Hist," said Marsh. "The slavers have grown bold. It used to be Argonians and Khajiit were the only targets of their attacks. But now they're openly attacking Legionnaires to get their slaves? It seems there is truly no level these people will not stoop to."

"How old is Arlena?" K'Jhari asked.

"Eighteen, since last month," she answered. That was roughly what K'Jhari would have guessed. The girl had a fairly average face with flat cheeks, and light ocean-blue eyes. She had long brunette hair, which she had tied back behind her head. Her nose had stopped bleeding for the most part, but the black swelling around her eye where the guard had struck her would take at least a few days to heal. She was noticeably underweight, though not quite to the point of her looking malnourished. K'Jhari knew this was thanks to the little food everyone was given, combined with the work they had to do every day.

"Do you guys mind if I stick with you for a while?" asked Arlena. "I don't really know anyone here."

"Not at all, Arlena. Your company is most welcome," replied Marsh.

"I've never even seen this so-called Lord Drethen who supposedly owns all of us," said Arlena.

"And this one hopes you never do," said K'Jhari.

A guard came by with food and water, which the Khajiit, Argonian and Imperial heartily accepted. Though it wasn't much, K'Jhari was grateful beyond words to finally be eating something. When he took the first sips of the warm water, it felt as if he had swallowed a taste of Aetherius itself.

"I don't know how I'm going to make it through the rest of the day like this," said Marsh, wincing as he placed a hand on his back.

"I know a small amount of healing magic," said Arlena, "but these slave bracers on our wrists are enchanted to prevent any sort of magic use."

"Khajiit happened to notice a deep hollow within the rocks, over there in the corner," said K'Jhari, pointing to the spot in question. "Marsh could work in there instead, and if he needs to rest, it should be deep enough to shield him from the sight of the guards, at least momentarily."

"I'll have to be careful," said Marsh. "I'll need to keep my rests short, lest I once again be granted the honor of feeling Malisarr's whip."

"We could warn you when any guards come our way," said Arlena.

"Exactly what I was thinking," said Marsh, "but it'll have to be subtle. If either of you spot a guard headed over here, scrape your axes against the rock for a few seconds. That will signal me to cut my rest short." K'Jhari and Arlena nodded in agreement.

"Looks like our break is just about over," stated K'Jhari. The trio finished the last of the food they had been given. The water had satisfied K'Jhari enough, but he was still mildly hungry. He knew the next break wouldn't be for several more hours, so he would just have to make do.

"I suppose we better get back to it," Marsh said, his voice glum. With the searing pain in his back, the Argonian experienced some difficulty standing back to his feet, but he managed, after a moment.

With the guards now reentering the mine, the slaves soon had their pickaxes in hand as they fell back into formation. Before he even took hold of his own axe again, K'Jhari could already feel the aching stiffness returning to his hands and fingers. As much as he cherished every second of his breaks, K'Jhari never felt they were long enough. Being so few and far between didn't help either, but K'Jhari figured that was far better than no breaks at all.

 _And now for countless hours of yet more work._ Back on his feet again, K'Jhari grabbed his axe and joined the rest of the slaves who had resumed working. He kept an eye on Marsh who was working in the crevice as he had suggested, just to ensure he was holding up alright.

A sizeable portion of rock split and crumbled rather suddenly beneath K'Jhari's axe. The Khajiit practically leapt backward as the rocks tumbled, producing a small quake that momentarily shook the ground.

"You alright, K'Jhari?" Arlena asked.

"Yes, this one is fine," answered the Khajiit. "This one was just not expecting that." When the cloud of dust cleared, K'Jhari saw that a narrow fissure had been left from where the rocks collapsed. Initially, the Khajiit paid it no heed, but as he was about to get back to work, he noticed something inside the small cleft, which must have been unearthed when the rocks fell. Curiously, he reached his hand inside.

"What is it, K'Jhari?" asked Marsh.

"Khajiit thinks our work is finally about to start showing results," he answered, slowly pulling out the black, metallic chunk of raw ebony from the stone.


	6. A Brother's Mercy

It was past dusk when the slaves were at long last led out of the ebony mine, at the end of yet another grueling workday. When Treads-Marshes took his first steps outside, the long, deep breath of fresh air he took as he gazed to the night sky truly felt like a gift from the Hist. The rest of the slaves filed out of the mine gradually, with the guards following right behind them. Marsh winced, placing a hand on his back that still stung like fire from the lashes of Malisarr's whip. While the burning sensation had subsided somewhat throughout the course of the day, even the slightest movement on Marsh's part still caused him great pain, and Marsh was surprised that he was even able to make it through the rest of the day. All the Argonian wanted right now was to simply make it back to the plantation, and lie down in his bedroll. The sooner Marsh could get to sleep, the sooner he could put this day behind him.

"Feeling okay, Marsh?" asked K'Jhari, stopping beside the Argonian.

"I'm better, thanks for asking," Marsh answered. "But I suspect it'll be days before the stinging in my back completely goes away."

"This one is just glad to be finished another day. K'Jhari was beginning to wonder if he would ever see the outdoors again."

It was another minute before everyone else was finally gathered outside the mine. All the slaves of the Drethen plantation were familiar with this drill by now, and within a matter of seconds they had organized themselves into a straight formation. The guards did a thorough count of the slaves, making sure everyone was present and accounted for. Once that was done, the weary slaves were once again arranged two-by-two. The guards began the task of shackling the slaves together before the arduous march back to the plantation.

Marsh and K'Jhari stood at the very rear of the line, watching the guards systematically bind all the pairs of slaves together in their steel chains. The two of them were the last to be chained, and it was not long after that the order was given to begin the march back to the plantation.

The night was pleasant enough. The air was warm, with a comfortable, soothing breeze passing by to counter the mild humidity. The only sounds to be heard that night were the clanking rattle of chains resounding along the forest trail, and the faint mutterings of the guards conversing amongst themselves. Marsh was paying little attention to his surroundings, perhaps in some attempt to somehow make this tiresome trek shorter. The Argonian turned his gaze to the sky, staring solemnly into the stars in some hope of finding peace and solace. He was trying his hardest to ignore the persistent pain in his back, but the stinging still made him feel as if some beast was right on top of him, clawing and biting through his scales.

 _I suspect that even long after the pain takes its leave, the scars will remain behind, forever reminding me of this day_ , Marsh thought.

"Khajiit is sorry, Marsh," K'Jhari muttered, keeping his voice low.

"What do you mean, K'Jhari?" asked Marsh. K'Jhari let out a glum sigh.

"Khajiit is sorry he did nothing to help you, back in the mine. You were brave enough to stand up to Malisarr, brave enough to stand up for someone you had never met. You suffered Malisarr's wrath in someone else's stead. You did something far more courageous than this one could ever imagine…" K'Jhari stifled a sob, "and all I did was stand there, like a sniveling coward. This one should have stepped in to help you, Marsh. You have done so much for Ashara and I during our time here. But when you needed me back there, this one was simply too afraid to do anything. This one remained silent when he should have done something, and in doing so, K'Jhari gravely let you down. I'm sorry, Marsh, and K'Jhari hopes you can forgive him." Every word the Khajiit spoke was tinged with remorse and guilt.

"There is nothing to forgive, my friend," Marsh answered. "And I don't ever want you to be sorry for me. I knew what I was doing back there, when I made the decision to stand up to Malisarr. I knew exactly what dangers I was placing myself into, and I knew the consequences that would befall me for my defiance. And believe me when I say I will never for a second regret doing what I did. I would never ask, nor want you to risk your own skin simply for my sake. You have so much more to lose than I do, K'Jhari. You have a little sister to look after. Ashara needs you, my dear friend, and that means you can't be doing things that would put your life in jeopardy. She should be your only priority, K'Jhari. Don't ever worry about me, I can look after myself."

The wind picked up slightly, sending a brief chill through Marsh's scales. The company of slaves and guards passed by a long, trickling stream that flowed alongside the grassy trail through thick coppices of trees and shrubs. The plantation was still a fair distance away yet, and it was all Marsh could do to keep his body from completely giving out beneath the weight of his fatigue.

"Back at the mine, you mentioned you had a sister," K'Jhari spoke up again. "You've never said anything about your family before, during all the time Khajiit has known you."

"It pains me to think of my past, to be entirely honest," said Marsh with a sigh. "Especially when it comes to my sister."

"Khajiit did not mean to pry, my friend. I was simply curious."

"It's quite alright, K'Jhari," said Marsh. "I haven't spoken of my sister to anybody since my enslavement, but I suppose it mightn't hurt to finally tell someone. Get it off my chest, so to speak."

"Her name was Sharee," Marsh continued, keeping his voice low to keep anyone else from hearing. "I was the only family she really ever had, as our parents died young, and I practically raised her singlehandedly. Honest work was hard to come by back home, so I took up thievery very early into my childhood. At the time, that seemed like the only way for me to provide for the both of us. I would never tell anyone that the path of crime is the right path to choose, but at the time, I saw no other way to survive. In my mind, my choices were either rob others, or risk both of us starving to death."

"Khajiit can understand that, my friend," said K'Jhari, sounding sympathetic enough.

"I became very good at thieving, and very quickly," said Marsh. "We weren't rich by any means, but over time, I became proficient enough in my art that I was able to make enough money for Sharee and I both to live off. During the odd times where money became tight, I would forgo eating for days at a time, just so Sharee would never go hungry. Life wasn't easy back then, but it worked for us, and it provided us the means to stay alive another day."

"You must have loved your sister dearly, Marsh," said K'Jhari.

"I did. When Sharee turned about nine or ten, she told me she wanted me to teach her how to be a thief, and that she wanted to join me in my…escapades. I was adamantly against it at first, and I refused her for several months. Damn girl was as stubborn as me though, and she was relentless in bugging me over and over to teach her. Growing up, she had developed the same rambunctious, free-spirited personality that I had, and I knew I wouldn't be able to deny her forever."

"So what changed your mind?" asked K'Jhari.

"I still remember it as if it was yesterday," Marsh said with a grin. "I was still refusing to teach Sharee about thieving, and we were having an argument over it. I told her I simply didn't think she was ready. Obviously, she insisted otherwise. We continued arguing, and then finally, Sharee suddenly reveals a coinpurse in her hand. I asked her where she got it. Sharee only smiled at me, and that's when I reached for my belt…only to discover my coinpurse was missing."

"Robbed by your own little sister," K'Jhari and Marsh both shared a hearty laugh.

"I was angry for all of two seconds," said Marsh, still chuckling. "But the truth is, at that moment, in some strange way, I had never been more proud of Sharee than I was then. That was the moment I knew my sister was ready to walk alongside me on my path, and that she had the makings of an exceptional thief. I finally agreed to teach her what I knew, and Sharee hugged me so tightly it was a wonder she didn't break me in half."

"So how did Sharee fare as a thief?" asked K'Jhari.

"She was an absolute natural, my friend," said Marsh. "She picked up thieving faster than I thought was even possible. That girl truly possessed a gift, and before she was even eleven, she was already burgling houses entirely on her own."

"Your very own partner in crime," K'Jhari chuckled.

"Indeed, and what a team we made," said Marsh. "Almost every job we did together, we would try to outdo one another, see who could pull in more loot. We made far more money together than I ever did alone. Once I grew confident enough in Sharee's abilities, I had no problem occasionally sending her off by herself while I kicked back and relaxed for a day or two. As we grew older, we started running with all sorts of gangs, which made us even more money. We traveled to Cyrodiil numerous times, looting houses, castles, mansions, museums, chapels-"

"And mines," K'Jhari added.

"Yes, and mines," laughed Marsh. "As the years passed, our abilities only grew, and over the next decade, Sharee and I were literally unstoppable."

"Sounds like quite a life the two of you led, my friend," said K'Jhari.

"If I can be honest, there was always a small part of me that couldn't help but feel guilty in leading Sharee down the path of the thief," Marsh confessed. "Even though I protected her, and was able to give her a life far more comfortable than I could have imagined, I still felt like I was being a poor role model for my little sister. But at that point, we were so far into the life, neither of us could even imagine doing anything else."

"So what…what happened to Sharee?" K'Jhari asked, somewhat hesitantly. Marsh knew this question was coming, but hearing it still did not pain him any less. The Argonian was silent for several moments.

"The answer to that actually ties in directly to when I was enslaved…" Marsh spoke again.

"You don't need to tell Khajiit if you do not wish," said K'Jhari.

"No, it's fine, my friend. I just needed a minute," said Marsh. "We had just finished our greatest job to date, robbing the Gilded Dragon Bank in Kvatch. We were running with this gang, about eight or nine of us total. The heist was perfectly planned, and the job itself played out just as perfect. We made off with more money than I even knew existed, and I knew Sharee and I would be set for life with this payout."

"But what are thieves, if not greedy bastards, always lusting for more?" said Marsh. "We returned home to Black Marsh, and proceeded to celebrate the success of our grand mission like anyone else would, by getting wasted in a tavern. Well, in the middle of our revelries, our group gets approached by this Dunmer, who says he's heard of us, and has a job that would be perfect for us. In hindsight, this Dunmer fit every definition of the word shady, but at the time, I was too drunk to notice. After a quick discussion with this man, and a promise of a hefty payout, we all agreed, and set off the very next morning."

"What was the job?" asked K'Jhari.

"It seemed simple enough," said Marsh. "The Dunmer told us about this warehouse, not far from the Morrowind border, that apparently was once used by a drug trafficking ring as a base of operations. The place had been raided by the authorities years ago, but apparently there were stashes of unseized drugs still hidden away that were worth a fortune. Our instructions were to find the drugs, and bring them back to that same Dunmer."

"This one is guessing things did not go as planned?" K'Jhari inquired.

"By the Hist, I was a fool," said Marsh. "The whole damned thing was a trap. We got to the warehouse, made our way inside, and all of us started scrambling to find these supposed drugs. Well, not even a minute later, that warehouse was suddenly swarmed, by what turned out to be none other than Dunmer slavers from Morrowind. And I'll give you one guess as to who was leading them…"

"The same Dunmer who gave you the job," said K'Jhari. Marsh only nodded his head.

"Apparently, the local authorities of Black Marsh had a nice, cozy arrangement with the slavers of Morrowind," Marsh explained. "The police had long grown tired of chasing and capturing petty criminals like us, so in exchange for tremendous sums of money, as well as free rein across much of the land, the slavers simply did it for them. They saw it as killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. The criminal population dwindled, while the slave population soared."

"So that's when you were captured," said K'Jhari.

"Not right away," said Marsh. "We fought back, even killed roughly half of them. But we were overwhelmed, nonetheless. Sharee, along with myself and one other, were all that remained of our gang. We finally surrendered, and that's when my life changed forever."

"That's quite a story, Marsh," said K'Jhari. "What happened after?"

"After we were captured, we were thrown into a prison wagon and brought to the Dres capital of Tear the very next day," Marsh answered. "Sharee and I were kept within the infamous slave-pens, locked underground together inside a cold, dark cell so small we could barely even move. I couldn't say how long we were kept there. All I can say, is that we were both scared beyond what words could describe. Scared, and uncertain of what our future held."

"And what happened to your sister?" asked K'Jhari. Marsh closed his eyes, taking a shuddered breath as he recalled the memory.

"I always carried with me a special poison, named simply the Serpent's Tears," said Marsh. "A rare, extremely potent concoction, made only back home in Argonia. To those who know of its existence, it is considered one of the deadliest poisons in Tamriel, fatal even to us Saxhleel." Marsh stopped again, trying his best to fight the tear dribbling from his eye.

"One of the guards brought us a single skin of water to drink, after what seemed like an age of being completely parched," said Marsh. "I drank first. Sharee wasn't looking, and just before I gave her the water, I made a decision that will haunt me for the rest of my days."

"You didn't…" said K'Jhari in a shocked whisper.

"I spiked the water with the last drops of the poison I still carried," Marsh sobbed, trying to keep himself together as best he could. "I gave Sharee the water, and in just the blink of an eye…my little sister was gone."

"You…you killed your own sister? K'Jhari's voice remained hushed, but sounded no less horrified or disturbed upon Marsh's grim revelation.

"Before you judge me, you had better know that was the single most agonizing decision in my life I had ever been forced to make," said Marsh, his hands shaking from the horror of having to recall that tragedy. "I loved my little sister from the day she was hatched, with every ounce of my being. All her life, I did whatever it took to protect her, and not once did I ever do anything that was not in her best interest."

"When I made that harrowing decision to end Sharee's life, I thought I was doing so out of mercy. As terrible a person that might have made me, I absolutely would have rather seen my sister as a corpse, than as a slave. To have to endure the sight of her shackled in chains like some feral beast, to see her suffer beneath the brutality of Malisarr and his men, to see her live under the same oppression and misery that we do. I would've killed my sister a thousand times before ever letting her experience the torture and agony that we do, every day. Not a day passes that I don't hate myself for what I did, but knowing the alternative, I saw no other choice."

A long silence hung between the two. A silence more dreary than the greyest fog, more grim than the darkest shadow looming over a thousand decrepit graves. Marsh had become so overwhelmed with emotion, that he had nearly forgotten about the pain in his back entirely. The Argonian was struggling to compose himself again, after having revealed his darkest secret to K'Jhari. As much pain as the red lashes on his back may have been causing him, that was nothing, compared to the inner torment swelling inside Marsh as those memories resurfaced in his mind.

"Khajiit is sorry, Marsh, for what happened to you, and Sharee," K'Jhari said, breaking the silence. "This one cannot imagine the pain you must feel, every day. K'Jhari will not say he commends your decision, but he understands that you did it out of love for Sharee. Khajiit could never judge you for that."

"Thank you, K'Jhari. It means the world to me to hear you say that," said Marsh, gratefully. "You're the only one I've ever told about my sister. Telling you all that wasn't easy, but in a way, I think it was good for me to let someone know, finally. I feel like some sort of weight has been lifted off my chest, like all those negative emotions that I had allowed to silently fester inside me all these years have finally been released. I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for what I did to Sharee. I mean, I tell myself that I did what I did to spare her from a much worse fate, but at the same time, I still had no right to end someone else's life, much less my own sister's."

"I don't think I will ever make peace with what I did," Marsh continued, "but all I can do every day is be the best person I can be. All I can do is try to be someone that Sharee would be proud of, to live my life in the way that best honors her memory."

"For what it's worth, Khajiit thinks that Sharee would be proud of you for what you did today, Marsh," said K'Jhari. "I know I am, and you should be too."

"I suppose you're right, my friend. Though I strongly doubt my back is going to forgive me for it anytime soon," Marsh replied, both of them sharing a chuckle.

Silence reigned once more. For the rest of the way back to the plantation, Marsh began to feel a strange feeling of peace dawning inside him, a feeling that had become all but lost to him over the years. Like the rays of a morning sun shining away the darkness of night, the plethora of haunting memories and emotions that had long plagued him had begun to gradually alleviate. Unburdening himself like that had proved to be liberating for him. Even if this rare moment of serenity was to be as fleeting as a droplet of rain, Marsh welcomed the respite from his woes all the same, and he intended to hold on to every second of this as if they were his last.

 _If you can see me, Sharee, wherever you are, I hope that you may someday come to forgive me for what I did to you. I love you, sweet child, and I promise that will never change._ Marsh shut his eyes, drowning out the rest of the world, basking in the calm breeze grazing his scales.


	7. City of Chains

The warm summer wind swept across the Padomaic Ocean, the water nearly as blue as sapphires as the rippling waves crashed and tumbled against one another. The morning sun rested above a bed of clouds, with the entirety of Morrowind bathing in the caress of its golden, nourishing light. The merry chirping of songbirds welcomed the birth of the new day, while the forests and woodlands of Morrowind gradually began to stir and awaken. The air was mildly humid that morning, and all signs were pointing to this being probably the warmest day Morrowind had experienced yet this year, and they would only grow more so as the first weeks of summer would begin to pass.

Alarys Drethen stood at the edge of the water, along the sandy coast that led into the great, vast ocean. The Dunmer lord shut his eyes for but a moment, allowing the warmth of the morning sun to invigorate him as the breeze gently blew over him. Alarys stared silently across the ocean, his gaze keenly fixed to the far eastern horizon. A flock of gulls circled above the dancing ocean, their calls echoing for miles across land and sea.

Alarys gave a swift cast of his fishing rod, the line soaring through the air before landing in the water with a tiny splash. Watching the water intently, the Dunmer held his rod firm and steady, shutting out everything else around him as the wind blew his hair behind his head.

 _Somedays I swear I should just leave everything behind, live in some crabby shack in the middle of nowhere, and just fish for the rest of my days,_ Alarys mused to himself.

"The road ahead looks to be clear, Lord Drethen," said Malisarr, making his way across the beach. "Barring any delays, we should expect to reach the gates of Tear by mid-afternoon." Alarys gave no response, nor did he so much as divert his gaze from the water to acknowledge the guard captain's presence.

"The weather could not be more agreeable for traveling, if I do say so myself," spoke Malisarr again. "If I'm being honest, my lord, it feels good to get away from the plantation every now and again."

Alarys felt a tug on his rod just then, and the Dunmer gave the line a quick jerk before reeling it in. Alarys let out an irritated sigh when his hook emerged from the water with no fish, and no worm.

"They could at least have the decency to take the guts too," Alarys muttered. After cleaning off the metal hook, Alarys grabbed another worm, carefully piercing through it with the sharp tip. Once the new worm was set in place, Alarys gave the rod another cast, his eyes following the hook as it descended towards the waves.

Not even half a minute later, Alarys felt his rod tugging again.

"Looks like he's back for round two," said Alarys, pulling and reeling in his line. "Grab that bucket over there." Malisarr complied, and it was not long after that Alarys pulled the big, flopping fish out of the water. Malisarr held the bucket as Alarys brought the dangling fish around and slowly lowered it inside. Alarys grabbed the fish, carefully removing the hook from its mouth as it squirmed in his fingers. Once that was done, Alarys dipped his hands in the water to clean off the blood and slime.

"A fine catch, my lord," said Malisarr. Alarys grabbed his fishing rod again, preparing another worm before the line promptly took flight once again.

"There's no finer time than the morning to go fishing," said Alarys. "That's what my father always told me, whenever he would take me out. This beach was one of our favorite spots to come to when I was a boy. Interestingly enough, this would also be the place where I eventually proposed to Valarya."

Alarys's rod tugged again, and the Dunmer soon pulled out another fish from the ocean, with this one being even bigger than the first.

"Life doesn't leave me much time for traveling anymore," said Alarys. "But I still try and make it here as often as time permits."

"Did you do much traveling in your younger days, my lord?" asked Malisarr, curiously.

"Oh yes, I was an avid adventurer back in my day, before father passed, and I ended up taking his seat on the council of House Dres," Alarys replied.

"What did you do before that, my lord? If you don't mind my asking," asked Malisarr. Alarys was silent for a moment.

"I was a bounty hunter, if you must know," Alarys answered.

"A bounty hunter, my lord?" Malisarr replied, noticeably impressed. "There's a job I've always fancied. That life must come with its fair share of stories."

"I do miss those days, I'll admit," said Alarys. "Life was simpler back then, not to mention far more exciting. Chasing wanted criminals, escaped slaves, and every other form of lowlife scum across the land certainly beats writing letters and playing politics any day of the week. My journeys led me all across Morrowind several times over, as well as much of Black Marsh. I was one of the best at what I did, and the money I made practically made me rich in my own right. And at night, after yet another day's work, I stayed in the most luxurious inns, ate the finest foods, slept in the softest beds, and laid with the most gorgeous women you had ever seen. To put it simply, life was good."

"I certainly envy you, my lord," Malisarr replied. "So what happened, anyways? I mean, to your bounty hunting career?"

"What do you _think_ happened?" Alarys retorted. "I got married."

Malisarr let out a brief chuckle. "Any particular instances from your bounty hunting days that ever stood out to you, my lord? Something that would make a good story?" Alarys had to take a moment to untangle his fishing line before casting again.

"There are a few, now that you mention it," Alarys answered. "But the one I'll always remember until my dying breath, was actually from one of the last jobs I ever did."

"It was just two or three weeks after I married Valarya," explained Alarys. "The job started out like any other. Three Argonian slaves had escaped from some plantation on Vvardenfell, somewhere near Suran, I think. The plantation owner had placed a bounty of a thousand drakes each on their heads, but only if they were brought back alive. Knowing that the smartest move for the runaways to make would be catching a ship off Vvardenfell, I began my search at the nearby docks and shipyards. I made inquiries to every sailor, ship captain, and dock worker that I could find. Naturally, I assumed that the escaped lizards would head south, with the intent of making a run-for-it to Black Marsh."

"So you can imagine my surprise when I learned that three Argonians matching their description had sailed northwest instead, on a ship bound for Blacklight," Alarys continued. "More than likely, they knew that anyone looking for them would almost certainly go to Black Marsh, so this was their attempt to throw off any pursuers."

"And you followed them to Blacklight, my lord?" asked Malisarr.

"I did," Alarys replied. "I spent a day there, asking questions to innkeepers, merchants, city guards, even beggars. Anyone who might've seen those Argonians, you can be sure I spoke with them."

"And, what did you find out?" Malisarr asked.

"To my annoyance, I discovered that the escaped Argonians had traveled even further west, and crossed over into Skyrim," said Alarys. "As if hiding in that frozen wasteland would save them. I promptly followed their trail, traveling along the outskirts of Windhelm, before turning north and crossing into Winterhold. That decision was nearly the death of me."

"My lord?"

"When the snow first began to fall, I initially thought nothing of it," Alarys went on. "In hindsight, I know I should have taken shelter immediately. But I was young, stupid, and arrogant, and I would be damned if I was going to let some light drizzle stop me. So, I pressed on. Well, that light drizzle very quickly progressed into a full-scale blizzard…and I was caught right in the open."

"The storm lasted four days," said Alarys. "Between the biting, shrieking winds, the blowing snow beating harder and harder against me, and the deathly freezing temperatures, it's a miracle I managed to survive even a single hour out there. What had begun as just another bounty hunting contract, had quite literally turned into a fight for my own survival."

"And what happened next?" asked Malisarr, clearly invested in his employer's tale.

"After spending gods know how many hours treading through waist-high snow, nearly half-frozen, I finally came to a small cave, located deep within a narrow mountain pass. Figuring that to be as good a spot for shelter as any, I quickly settled myself there. My plan was to simply stay there for as long as need be, and do my best to keep warm. I knew the escaped Argonians wouldn't be going anywhere in the midst of such a violent storm, so my intention was to wait out the blizzard, and head out again when the snows finally passed."

"Sounds like the best idea, considering your circumstances," said Malisarr.

"It was," said Alarys, "at least until I discovered that cave was apparently the home of a very hungry, and a very pissed off frost troll. When I first saw that hideous, three-eyed beast coming for me, I knew beyond any doubt that my Valarya was going to be left a widow. If I hadn't have remembered the fire scrolls I happened to be carrying, she very well would've been."

"You defeated a frost troll, my lord?" asked a fascinated Malisarr. Alarys merely nodded his head.

"Once the storm finally passed, I set off again," said Alarys. "I knew those Argonians wouldn't be too far ahead of me, and it didn't take me long to pick up their trail once again. After another day of traveling even further north, the Argonians' trail finally led me to some cave, just off the Sea of Ghosts. I knew the damned lizards were undoubtedly hiding in there, thinking they were safe on the very edge of Tamriel. After nearly freezing to death in a blizzard, followed by almost serving as dinner for a monstrous troll, I was ready to just find those bloody scalebacks already and call it a day."

"And…you found the escaped Argonians in the cave, my lord?" Malisarr asked.

"Yes," answered Alarys. "Well, their corpses, to be more precise, all with their slave bracers still intact. Naturally, I assumed they had either starved or frozen to death at first. But I quickly found it strange that they had died in such close proximity to one another, which would imply that their deaths were simultaneous. It wasn't until inspecting them more closely, that I noticed the fang marks on each of their throats, and that the bodies were severely drained of blood…and that's when I saw three pairs of blood-red eyes staring at me through the darkness."

"You mean…vampires?" asked Malisarr.

"Volkihar vampires," said Alarys, "and they were all too eager to bestow upon me the same fate as those dead Argonians. I took out one of them immediately with a well-placed crossbow bolt to the heart, but the other two closed in on me too quickly to do the same to them. I kept them at bay with my fire scrolls until I got far enough from them to get off another shot, thereby killing a second one. The last one suddenly lunged forward and took hold of me, before giving me something to remember it by." Alarys lifted his neck, revealing what was very clearly a faint imprint of vampire fangs.

"I was able to reach the dagger from my belt, and drove it through the beast's throat as it tried to feast upon my blood," said Alarys. "I might have just survived an attack from three Volkihar vampires, but I was still pissed that they had killed those Argonians, and stolen my payday."

"That is quite a story, my lord, if I do say so myself," said Malisarr. "What did you do after that?"

"There was no way in Oblivion I was going to end up empty-handed, after everything I had been through," said Alarys. "I gathered the heads of the slain vampires, and made my way to the city of Winterhold. I presented the heads to the Jarl, and demanded payment for services rendered. The fat pouch of gold, along with free food and lodging for the night were more than adequate rewards for my efforts. I was even given a free carriage ride back to Morrowind the next morning."

"My life as a bounty hunter did not last much longer after that," said Alarys. "It was around that time that my father's health began to turn against him. Valarya largely took care of him through his final days, while I began taking on all his responsibilities. When father died, his estate passed to me, while the council of House Dres voted me in to replace him. And thus, my days as the free-spirited adventurer came to an end, and I was thrust headfirst into the constant scheming, squabbling, and bickering that is Morrowind politics."

"How has progress been with the ebony mine?" Alarys asked Malisarr.

"It is going very well, my lord," answered the guard captain. "After several weeks, most of the mine is now clear of wreckage. Once the ore veins are completely accessible, my plan is to have a tram system put in place."

"Any of the slaves giving you trouble?" Alarys asked.

"There's always a few every now and again that get it in their heads to stir up trouble," said Malisarr. "What they hope to accomplish is beyond me, but it's never anything I can't handle, my lord."

"I'm pleased to hear that, Malisarr," said Alarys. "There is a tremendous sum of money riding on this, and you know I will not tolerate failure of any sort."

"I understand, Lord Drethen," said Malisarr. "I assume you have some buyers lined up, for when we begin to dig the ebony?"

"Yes. Valarya has been working out the finer details of all that," Alarys replied. "She's been in contact with some people who will pay a handsome price for that ebony, and hopefully that will all be set up before long."

"Then the rest is up to me," said Malisarr confidently.

"Take these back to the wagon," said Alarys, handing his full bucket of fish to Malisarr, "I'll have them for dinner later. Get your men ready, we continue on to Tear in ten minutes."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

It was roughly an hour or two past noon when Alarys and his retinue of guards arrived at the grand city of Tear, the capital of Great House Dres. Infamous across all of Morrowind for its countless slave-pens, Tear was a city long feared by the beast races, and was known by all to be the center of slavery in Morrowind. Being a coastal city, Tear boasted no shortage of vast shipyards, allowing masses of slaves to be shipped and received with ease every day. Tear stood in very close proximity to the border of Black Marsh, and as a result, much of the surrounding landscape consisted largely of swamps, marshes and wetlands. The climate of the Dres city was generally humid and hot, and with the first weeks of the summer now in full swing, this was even more true.

The guards patrolling the main gate instantly recognized and greeted Lord Alarys, and they promptly granted him entrance into the city of Tear.

"Where are we headed to first, my lord?" asked Malisarr.

"We're going to the docks," Lord Drethen answered. "I need to pay Razzar a visit at his stall. He and I have certain…business, that needs to be taken care of."

Alarys strode with a brisk pace through the vast streets of Tear, his company of guards trailing closely behind. The lower districts of Tear were generally considered the poorest sections of the city, where the commoners and lowly denizens made their home. The residences that lined these streets were largely modest and unimpressive, a perfect reflection of the very people who lived in them, in Alarys's eyes. As one continued further on along the streets and alleys, they would no doubt notice the countless shops and merchant stands that littered the district like weeds in a garden. Alarys barely even took notice of the swarms of people crowded around the various establishments, pushing and shoving past them as if they were mere vermin.

Alarys and his company came to a large plaza-like area, which contained several more shops clustered together, as well as a smithy, a few cheap taverns and inns, and even a brothel that was tucked away at the end of the street. This area of the city was guaranteed to be bustling with activity no matter the time of day. As Alarys continued through the plaza, his attention was drawn to what he quickly deduced to be a slave auction. A small crowd of wealthy Dunmer surrounded a wooden podium, upon which stood three Khajiit, and two Argonian slaves, all shackled to each other. The bellowing voice of the Breton auctioneer echoed through the crowd of gathered nobles, and they responded in turn as their bids rang through the air.

Alarys looked on with mild interest as more bids were made. When the auction came to an end, the Dunmer woman in the lavish purple dress who had made the winning bid stepped forth from the now silent crowd. The purchased slaves were hurriedly escorted off the platform as their new owner came to claim them. Alarys watched for only a moment longer as the next set of slaves were brought onto the podium before continuing on his way.

The main harbor was without question one of the busiest sections in all of Tear. No matter the hour, it was impossible not to see scores of ships coming and leaving the waterfront, sails fluttering against the wind. Legions of sailors and crewmen prowled the extensive network of docks and jetties at all hours of the day. Whether they were unloading crates of cargo from their ships, or frequenting the various taverns and inns to unwind, or conducting business with the merchants, or simply conversing with the common citizens of the city, it was rare not to find the ports of Tear teeming with sailors. And as it was right now, the dockside looked to be as busy as could be, with hulking vessels docked at every station, and people hustling to and fro from every which direction.

The afternoon sun shone brightly in the clear sky, reflecting off the clear waters of the sea. A mild breeze swept across the waterfront, providing a welcome reprieve from the humid weather. Alarys and his guards moved quickly along the harbor, largely ignoring the surrounding activity. Crowded as the docks might have been, Alarys had little trouble making his way past, as anyone who caught the sight of him and his guards quickly dispersed from his path. A patrolling squad of city guards under the employ of House Dres gave the High Councillor a respectful greeting as he passed them by.

After a few more minutes of walking, Alarys and his men came to Razzar's merchant stand, which was located close to the other end of the harbor. Out of the seemingly countless merchants that chose to conduct their business along Tear's largest waterfront, the Redguard man was generally considered one of the more prominent and well-to-do ones, considering he frequently arranged lucrative deals with the ship captains, as well as being heavily involved in the slave trade.

"Ah, my lord Alarys!" the middle-aged, balding Redguard exclaimed in greeting as Lord Drethen approached. Razzar emerged from behind his stand, clad in the wealthiest attire that money could buy, though it admittedly was a poor fit for the man's rotund figure. "A pleasure to see you again, my lord. It has been a while since-"

Alarys grabbed Razzar by his tunic, forcibly holding the man firmly against the wall. Drawing his dagger, Alarys pressed it against the Redguard's throat.

"You sold me four diseased guars, you n'wah," said Alarys, snarling at the visibly panicking Redguard. "They only lasted a mere two weeks after I bought them from you. I want my money back, as well as compensation for my two additional guars that were subsequently infected."

"In your dreams," Razzar retorted with a slight grin, in some attempt to maintain his composure. Alarys's scowl only deepened.

"Malisarr," Alarys gestured to the guard captain. Without another word, Malisarr sent all of Razzar's merchandise crashing to the ground with a swing of his arm. One firm kick toppled Razzar's stand backwards, and Malisarr promptly got to work on trashing the Redguard's valuable stock, with an almost childlike pleasure.

"Nice to see you too, Malisarr," said Razzar.

"Are you really going to make me ask twice for a refund, Razzar?" said Alarys, pressing his dagger harder against Razzar's throat to the point where blood actually began to trickle. "I should kill you right here and now, for the sole reason of being stupid enough to believe you could actually get away with ripping off a councillor of the Great House that so generously allows you to make your living here."

"Pl…please, my lord…have mercy," Razzar pleaded. "I'll get you your money, my lord, but it will have to be later. Unfortunately, I've found myself short on gold the past few days."

"You'll get my money _now_ , Razzar," said Alarys, "or you're going to find yourself short on fingers!"

"Wait! Wait!" begged Razzar, nearly to the point of tears. "I don't have your money right now, but there's another way we can reach an understanding. Just hear me out, my lord."

"I'm listening," Alarys replied, slightly loosening his grip of the dagger.

"I just got a new batch of slaves, my lord," Razzar explained, "fresh off the ship yesterday. They won't even be on the market for a few more days, but I'll take you to my warehouse where I have them locked up, and I'll let you have the first pick from them, at discounted prices."

The plump Redguard merchant looked as if he were ready to piss himself, shaking beneath Lord Drethen's cold stare. Much to Razzar's relief, however, his proposal seemed to appease Alarys. The Dunmer lord sheathed his dagger, and released Razzar from his grip.

"Very well. Lead the way," said Alarys. Razzar quickly scurried away from the wall, adjusting the collar of his regal outfit while he took a moment to pull himself back together.

"This way, my lord, if you'll please," said Razzar. "You know, it's a damn shame Valarya isn't with you as well. A pretty face would certainly brighten up my day right about now."

Razzar's warehouse was located at the western edge of the waterfront. Though situated within a less busy spot, it was still close enough to the docks where the ships made port to allow the imported merchandise to be unloaded and stored in an efficient manner. Once inside the warehouse, Alarys and Malisarr followed Razzar as the Redguard led them through the primary storage area, where several workers under his employ could be seen transporting crates and barrels, as well as taking count of the newly arrived stock and ensuring everything was accounted for.

"It's just down here, gentlemen. Please, follow me," said Razzar, leading the Dunmer hurriedly through the maze of boxes and crates. His tone of voice was a clear indication of his wish for this transaction to be over with as quickly as possible.

The three men reached a set of doors at the other end of the warehouse, where Razzar promptly brandished a keyring. Once the door was unlocked, Razzar then led the Dunmer down a long set of stairs that eventually emerged into a dark cellar.

"This is where I keep the new slaves when they first arrive, where they are closely inspected before being brought to the markets and put up for sale," Razzar explained, taking a second to grab a torch from the wall.

"How long do you generally keep them here?" Malisarr asked.

"On average, around three to five days," replied the Redguard. "Although, this cellar can hold roughly one hundred slaves at any given time. In the event I get a full shipment, sometimes they might be here a full week or two."

"You only got these slaves yesterday," said Alarys. "So it is safe to assume they are not yet inspected?"

"I caught a glimpse of each of them as they were loaded off the ship, and they all looked to be in shape from what I could see," answered Razzar. "But rest assured, Lord Drethen, anyone you purchase here, I will ensure they are examined as thoroughly as can be before you pay me a single drake."

The men continued through the cellar, with Razzar unlocking another door before bringing them to a long, narrow corridor. Small, dank cells lined both sides of the corridor as far as one could see, where Razzar's slaves were confined, and in visibly squalid conditions. The stench of bodily waste made itself known almost immediately.

"I don't normally do this, ever," said Razzar. "But, seeing as you…well, 'talked' me into this, I suppose I'll break tradition this once. Any slave here at all catches your eye, my lord, simply say the word, and we will talk price."

Alarys took a quick glimpse inside the first few cells, with Malisarr at his side doing the same. None of the imprisoned slaves said a word as the Dunmer looked them over. Most of them were simply lying huddled in the corner of their cells, squirming in their own filth and refuse. The ones that were actually standing gave the men brief eye contact, but knew better than to speak.

Alarys caught sight of a Dunmer man inside one of the cells.

"What's a Dunmer doing here?" asked Alarys, clearly surprised.

"I thought that one would interest you, my lord," said Razzar. "This Dunmer is, or should I say, was, a proud soldier of the Imperial Legion."

"Just like my dear son," Alarys remarked.

"The slavers who caught him found him stumbling drunk through the streets, and thought of no better fate for someone who serves the very Empire that seeks to eradicate slavery," said Razzar. "It's a tad ironic, if you think about it."

"If there's one thing I hate more than Legionnaires," began Alarys, "it's _Dunmer_ Legionnaires who disgrace their own kin by serving those worthless dogs. And there's no fate more fitting indeed for him than to serve upon my plantation. How much is he?" Razzar took a moment to ponder.

"Six thousand drakes, and he's yours," Razzar offered. Alarys glowered at his enslaved kinsman in the cell before him. The slave remained silent, but he returned Alarys's stare, filled with every ounce of defiance he could muster.

"Make it five, and you have a deal," Alarys countered.

"Very well. Five thousand it is," said Razzar. "I'll have my workers gather all the slaves you purchase and place them on a prison wagon for transport back to your plantation. If you wish to continue, my lord."

"The ebony mine project could stand to benefit from an additional worker or two, Lord Alarys," said Malisarr.

"Ah, I have just what you need," said Razzar.

The plump Redguard man led the Dunmer further on down the row of cells. Alarys found himself having to squint his eyes just to see inside the cells. The lack of any natural lighting down here didn't help his aging eyesight, and if it weren't for the torch Razzar was carrying, it was doubtful he would've been able to see at all.

"Ah, here," said Razzar, stopping somewhat abruptly before another cell.

Alarys moved closer and peered inside the cell at the Orc sitting tucked away in the corner.

"Hey, stand up you!" barked Razzar, banging his torch against the bars of the cell. The young Orc hurriedly complied and promptly presented himself.

"Hmm, he's just about your size, Malisarr," said Alarys. "Think you'd be able to handle that?"

"I could beat a dragon into submission, my lord," replied the guard captain, crossing his arms.

"As you can see, Lord Drethen," said Razzar, "this Orc possesses a physique that is nothing short of impressive. Thick, broad shoulders, muscular build, arms as strong as tree trunks. Built for just about any type of manual labor work there is. You're lucky to have this rare opportunity, my lord. If he makes it to the general market, I guarantee he'll be a quick sell."

"He'd be perfect for the mine project, my lord," said Malisarr.

"Agreed. What's his price?" asked Alarys. Razzar took another moment to ponder.

"Well, considering he is very strong, even by Orc standards, I was going to set his price at eight thousand drakes on the market," said Razzar.

"But because you want to make up for ripping me off, you'll let me have him for seven," said Alarys. Razzar had enough sense to know that was a statement, not an offer.

"Y-yes, of course, my lord," Razzar bumbled, "seven will do just nicely."

Moving on, Alarys and Malisarr followed Razzar further on down the dark corridor. Turning left at the end revealed another entire section of cells.

"Would it kill you to have these cells cleaned every now and again, Razzar?" asked Alarys. "I have no idea how you deal with the smell."

"I have my employees do a general cleanup about once a month," the Redguard replied. "I fail to see why I should bother beyond that. The way I see it, these slaves will be living in filth once they're purchased anyways. Might as well let them get used to it beforehand, am I right?"

"Whatever you say."

Alarys stopped just then in front of one of the cells.

"Razzar, over here."

The slave in particular that had caught Alarys's attention was a young Nord woman. Covered by nothing but her undergarments, her broad shoulders, brawny muscles and toned frame were plain for all to see. She had long, fiery red hair that fell well past her shoulders, and also blocked her face from view. She was shackled to the cell wall by her hands and feet, forcing her into a kneeling position. A noose had also been placed around her neck, which was fastened securely to the ceiling.

"Ah, this lass catch your eye, my lord?" asked Razzar, coming up beside Alarys.

Lord Drethen moved closer to the Nord woman's cell, silently examining her.

"Show me your face, Nord," Alarys ordered. The woman stayed motionless, keeping her head pointed to the floor.

"The man gave you an order, wench!" Razzar yelled into the cell. The Nord slowly raised her head, jerking her hair to the side to reveal her hazel eyes, giving Alarys the most defiant glare he had ever seen.

"So, what's your story, girl?" asked the Dunmer lord, leaning onto the cell door.

The woman's eyes stared daggers at the men standing outside her cell. Contorting her face to a snarl, she spat at Alarys's feet.

"Rot in Oblivion, slaver scum," she hissed.

Right on cue, Malisarr practically shot towards the door of the cell.

"You are in the presence of Lord Alarys Drethen, Councillor of Great House Dres, and one of the richest men in Morrowind!" the Dunmer barked. "You _will_ show him the proper respect, worm! Or I'll rip this door clean off and beat you with your own arm!"

"Easy thing to say, to a woman who is caged and chained," retorted the Nord.

"Easy, Malisarr," said Alarys. "You know I have little use for a one-armed slave."

"Apologies, Lord Drethen," said Malisarr.

"What can you tell me about her, Razzar?" Alarys inquired.

"From what I gathered from the crew of the ship she was brought on, she was a sellsword, hired by a Khajiit caravan to guard their convoy," said Razzar. "They passed through Morrowind on their way to Skyrim, and the caravan was ambushed by our good friends the slavers."

"I would assume they were initially after just the Khajiit," said Alarys.

"I believe so," said Razzar. "So, anyways, the slavers jumped the Khajiit convoy, but this fiery-haired lass put up a hell of a fight and managed to kill over half the slavers singlehandedly. But before the battle was lost, one of the slavers managed to disarm and subdue her. Rather than kill her, the slavers smartly decided to just capture her along with the Khajiit she had so valiantly tried to protect."

"Hmm, I see," said Alarys.

"And apparently, she caused even more trouble after that," Razzar snickered. "The first time they tried to chain her to put onto the ship, she broke free of her manacles and killed two more of her captors with her bare hands. Took five men to restrain her, and by the end of the whole ordeal, she practically had to be wrapped entirely in chains to get her on the ship."

"Sounds like you have your work cut out for you, Malisarr," said Alarys.

"Oh how I _do_ love the spirited ones," said Malisarr, leering at the Nord woman through the bars of her cell. "Makes it all the more satisfying when I beat them to the point they're little more than a whimpering dog."

"I almost want to buy her solely to see how she fares against Malisarr," said Alarys. "How much is she, Razzar?"

"Throw me a number, my lord," the Redguard replied. Alarys gazed closely at the chained woman again, and she predictably returned his stare, the hatred in her eyes unwavering.

"I'll pay six-and-a-half thousand for her," Alarys offered.

"Hmm, that is admittedly a tad less than I wanted to get for her," said Razzar, "but for you, Lord Alarys, I'll agree to that price. She's all yours."

Alarys didn't spend much longer in Razzar's slave lockup. After a few more rounds of bartering, negotiating and purchasing, Razzar led the two Dunmer men out of his warehouse and back to the docks. Several of the Redguard's employees were already hustling to get his stall back in order from earlier.

"Well, that finally takes care of that," said Razzar. "I sincerely hope you are happy with your purchases, Lord Drethen, and I hope your new slaves prove useful and productive to your plantation."

"Have them loaded up and ready to go by the time I leave Tear," said Alarys. "I'll send your payment for the slaves within the week."

"Of course, my lord. Please do not feel rushed," said Razzar. "So…we're good now?"

"Yeah, we're good," Alarys replied.

"Well, that's certainly a relie-"

"But make no mistake, Razzar," Alarys interrupted, getting right in the man's face, "you _ever_ rip me off again, and I'll have your warehouse burnt to the ground, before cutting off every last one of your fingers." Alarys turned to leave, but suddenly turned back around to Razzar again.

"And if you ever make a remark about my wife again…I'll cut off your manhood."

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Alarys finished his business at the docks. Making his way quickly through the merchant districts of the city, Alarys and his retinue of guards came to the Central Plaza, situated at the heart of the city, which served as a hub that conveniently connected all the districts of Tear together. Because of this, the plaza was oftentimes the busiest section in the whole city. Regardless of the time of day, one could always expect to see hundreds of folks flocked together, conversing and bantering amongst each other. A magnificent, ornate statue of the Daedric Prince Azura stood at the center of the plaza, watching silently over the congregation of citizens. Encircling the grand statue was a small garden, complete with a sitting area where people could relax and watch the surrounding activity.

Alarys stopped for a moment, simply watching the crowds from a distance. Making his way to the statue of Azura, he seated himself on one of the provided benches and allowed himself a moment of relaxation.

"So, where to next, my lord?" asked Malisarr.

"I suppose I should check in at the council chambers," said Alarys, gritting his teeth. "No doubt the rest of the councilors have been busy stirring up new plots and petty squabbles as of late, that I'll then be forced to hear about."

"Lord Alarys!" a voice called from the crowds. Alarys turned his head to the direction of the voice. "Lord Alarys!" The voice belonged to Llethil Mordryn, one of Alarys's fellow councilors in House Dres, and one of the very few councilors Alarys actually liked.

"Greetings, Llethil," said Alarys. "No better day for a stroll." Although Llethil Mordryn was roughly twenty years Alarys's junior, the younger Dunmer had not aged nearly as gracefully. Nary a speck of hair remained on Councilor Mordryn's head, his face as wrinkled as an old leather glove.

"Couldn't agree more, dear Alarys," Councilor Mordryn replied. "It is always a pleasure to have you in Tear, my friend. How does the day find you?"

"Well enough, I suppose," said Alarys.

"And how is Valarya?"

"She's well, Llethil. Thank you for asking."

"I received word that you had arrived in Tear a few hours ago," said Llethil. "It has been a while since your last visit. I thought I would meet with you and get you up to speed on current events within the council."

"I figured as much," said Alarys.

"Perhaps you would walk with me, Alarys? I would rather discuss these matters someplace more peaceful."

"Very well," said Alarys. "Malisarr, you and your men are free to spend the rest of our time here as you wish. I would speak with Councilor Mordryn alone."

"As you wish, my lord," said Malisarr, "and thank you."

* * *

The upper districts of Tear were considerably more peaceful and quiet than anywhere else in the city. Home to only the wealthiest and most influential of Tear's populace, the streets were lined with resplendent stone mansions, complete with rich décor and exquisite Dunmeri architecture. An extensive park separated the residential neighborhoods from the commercial establishments. Like the homes that comprised this district, so were the places of commerce just as refined and sophisticated. From fancy hotels, to restaurants, or shops, or even pleasure houses not riddled with diseases, there was never a shortage of entertainment to be had for those who could afford it.

"So, how's the fishing these days?" asked Llethil in a bit of lighthearted banter. The two House Dres councilors were passing through a quiet, more secluded street in the upper district.

"Quite well, actually," replied Alarys. "I had some time on the way here to stop and do a little fishing. Got pretty well a full bucket."

"Ah, I envy you, dear Alarys," said Llethil. "I do not remember the last time I was able to partake in any leisurely activities. In fact, I don't even remember the last time I left the city walls."

"Have things been that busy?"

"The fact I manage to find the time to even sleep anymore is a miracle in and of itself," quipped Councilor Mordryn. The two Dunmer came to a bridge that overlooked a lengthy canal that ran beneath several streets. Alarys leaned over the side of the bridge, gazing at a silt strider port looming in the distance not far from the docks.

"So, what exactly what do I need to be brought up to speed about?" Alarys inquired.

"I'm going to be perfectly level with you, Alarys," said Llethil with a deep sigh, "I fear for the future of the slave trade."

"Slavery isn't going anywhere, Llethil," said Alarys, quite dismissively. "Ever since the Empire first barged into our lands, they've been trying to force their laws upon us and strip the Dunmer of their ancient rights. Thus far, they have been unsuccessful in doing so, and that will never change, no matter how desperate or bold the Empire grows."

"A year ago, I would have agreed with you," Llethil replied, "but I worry that the ascension of King Hlaalu Helseth to the throne in Mournhold may place the slave trade in jeopardy. It is no secret the king is a firm supporter of the Empire, and that many Imperial representatives are present in his court. The Empire is placing great pressure on the king to outlaw slavery in all of Morrowind, and repeal its protections granted by the Armistice."

"Bugger the Armistice, and bugger Vivec for signing that travesty," spat Alarys with pure contempt. "The Dunmer people do not need some damned piece of paper to 'protect' our ancient rights. The Armistice is nothing more than a sheer mockery of the Dunmer people, and an insulting testament to the cowardice of the Tribunal who surrendered Morrowind to the Empire on a silver platter."

"I do not disagree with you, Alarys," said Llethil, "but the reality is, the Empire is making great efforts to eradicate the slave trade in this country, and, subsequently, prosecute those who refuse to comply. I certainly do not need to tell you that should King Helseth give in to the Empire's wishes and abolish the slave trade, the future of House Dres will be severely threatened."

"And it is not just the Empire we need to worry about," Llethil continued. "As of late, rumors of these so-called slavery abolitionist movements have been spreading like fire. Groups that actively work to free captive slaves and transport them out of Morrowind. Several plantations have been sabotaged by these 'anti-slavers', and a few slave owners have even been attacked outright."

"I've heard of these anti-slavers," said Alarys. "The Twin Lamps, they apparently call themselves. The word is, several of its associates are high-ranking members of Morrowind's nobility, and even have themselves a cozy base of operations in Ebonheart, where I'm sure the Empire gives them free rein to do as they wish."

"Too little attention was being paid to these anti-slavers before, as they were previously little more than a nuisance," said Llethil. "But now it appears our negligence has allowed them to pose a significant threat to the entirety of Morrowind's slave operation."

"And have our fellow councilors been working towards any sort of solution to these threats?" asked Alarys. "Provided, of course, they actually manage to stop bickering with one another for five consecutive minutes."

"The council has deliberated on these matters extensively, as of late," Llethil replied, "but regrettably, little has been achieved regarding a resolution. We have been unable to gather the full council for a proper meeting for quite some time, and to add on top of that the ailing health of Grandmaster Seralas, it has proven difficult to accomplish anything remarkable. If the worst should happen, my friend, and the king abolishes slavery, we may very well have to mount a resistance against the throne of Mournhold."

"That is one idea," said Alarys, "but in my mind, if we are to truly protect our rights regarding the slave trade, we must prevent any sort of abolition from ever taking place. Removing the Empire's influence over Morrowind's government is paramount to this, as is getting Helseth off the throne."

"You propose to have the king assassinated?" Llethil asked, perplexedly.

"Don't be a fool," Alarys scoffed, "going directly after the king would only draw undue attention to House Dres. Although…the assassination of someone less prominent, but still powerful will play a part."

"You have me intrigued, Alarys," said Llethil, "do continue."

"Tell me," Alarys began, "what would be your thoughts were Orvas Dren to become Duke of Vvardenfell?"

"Orvas Dren has long been a vociferous supporter of the slave trade, and a friend of House Dres," said Llethil. "Having Orvas in Ebonheart could certainly serve our interests immensely, though I am not sure how I feel about a known criminal ruling Vvardenfell. Have you spoken with Orvas himself about any of this?"

"I invited him to dinner with Valarya and I not long ago," replied Alarys, "and we discussed at length the possibility of having his brother dealt with for good. With Vedam Dren out of the picture, and with several Hlaalu councilors already in his pocket, Orvas could easily solidify control over Vvardenfell, as well as House Hlaalu. From there, Orvas can use his newfound influence and power to cut off the House's ties with the Empire, as well as crack down on these anti-slavers."

"Without House Hlaalu's support, the Imperials will be much more hard-pressed to maintain their occupation of Vvardenfell," stated Llethil, "and if the Empire were to lose Vvardenfell, their foothold in Morrowind in general would be severely destabilized."

"And if the rumors of the Emperor's increasingly poor health hold any amount of truth, Cyrodiil may very well soon find itself in the midst of a succession crisis," said Alarys. " And when would be a better time for us, as well as the thousands of true Dunmer still left in Morrowind, to mount an insurrection and cast out the Empire from this country at long last?"

"I must say, dear Alarys, this idea actually seems somewhat feasible," said Llethil. "Anti-Imperial sentiment in Morrowind continues to swell by the day. If we can erode the Empire's grip over this country far enough, I imagine it will not be difficult to draw support from those who dream of a free Morrowind."

"Without the Empire, Hlaalu Helseth will not sit the throne for long," said Alarys. "Without the Empire, the governance of Morrowind will once again return to the Dunmer people, just like the in days of our ancestors. We shall regain everything that the Imperial dogs have taken from us, and restore Morrowind to its former glory, back before Tiber Septim and his accursed legions ever came knocking at our door."

"Lord Drethen!" a voice called. Alarys looked over to see the lone city guardsman approaching them.

"Yes, soldier, what is it?" asked Alarys.

"Apologies for the disturbance, my lord," said the guard, "I have been ordered to inform you that Grandmaster Gelthryn Seralas has requested your presence."

"I'll be there at once," said Alarys. "As you were, soldier."

"I suppose you'd best be on your way, my friend," said Llethil. "The grandmaster is not a man to be kept waiting. It was a pleasure speaking with you, Alarys."

"And you as well, sera. Until our next meeting."

With that, Alarys took his leave of Councilor Llethil Mordryn. Hurrying through the streets of Tear, Alarys took a glance upwards to the evening sky as the sun gradually settled to the west. Passing through a temple district at his usual brisk pace, it was not long before Lord Alarys Drethen came to the Council Manor, where Gelthryn Seralas, Grandmaster of Great House Dres awaited him.


	8. Nightmare

**A/N: As of this chapter, this story is now rated M. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy.**

* * *

It was late morning when Valarya Drethen awoke. The Dunmer slowly opened her eyes, gazing at the slivers of milky sunlight pouring in through the curtains of the bedroom window. She looked over to see the other side of the bed empty. Valarya knew that her husband had left several hours prior, as he had important business in Tear to attend to today. And with that being the case, Lady Drethen was in charge of the plantation until Alarys returned.

Valarya sat up in the bed, throwing off the covers and giving her arms a long stretch. A sharp, stabbing pain suddenly shot through her. The Dunmer woman winced as she clutched her stomach, her breaths pained and unsteady. Forcing herself to stand, Valarya hastily threw on her housecoat. She drew open the bedroom curtains just a crack, briefly glancing upwards at the clear, sunlit summer sky that assuredly bore the promise of yet another blistering hot day. Turning her gaze away from the sky, she silently observed the vast green fields below, where the slaves of the Drethen plantation were already hard at work.

The searing pain in Valarya's stomach returned with a vengeance, and the woman was now dry-heaving. Racing across the bedroom, she bent over the nearby wastebasket where she retched profusely for several seconds. Once she was finished, and after a brief coughing fit, Valarya wiped off her mouth. She struggled to stand back up, placing a shaky hand against the wall to support herself. Once Valarya was back on her two feet, she was then beset by a burning headache. Predictably, she shut the drapes back over the window, completely disallowing any light inside.

 _Just my luck, getting sick as a dog on a day I have to run the plantation_ , thought Valarya. Heading for the cabinet that stood in the corner, Valarya reached for the small vial of medicine and eagerly downed the whole thing in a matter of seconds. Fortunately, the medicine was fast-acting, and Valarya's nausea soon subsided, although her headache still lingered. That would have to diminish in its own time.

Still feeling like death, Valarya groggily trudged her way back over to the bed, crawling completely underneath the covers as if they were some sort of protective shield.

 _Nobody will notice if I sleep an extra hour_ , thought Valarya. _Just one hour_.

Those hopes were soon dashed when Valarya heard a knock on the door.

Valarya groaned, and retreated deeper underneath the covers, in the faint hope that whoever was knocking would simply leave and let her be. To her chagrin, this was not to be the case, and the knocking came again even louder than before. Valarya had a feeling that whatever this was, it was not something to be ignored, no matter how much she might have wanted to.

"You may enter," spoke Lady Drethen finally, in a hoarse and weak voice. She emerged from her blankets and sat up again.

The bedroom door opened then, with Valarya looking over to see one of the household guards take a step inside.

"Oh, my…my deepest apologies, Lady Drethen," said the guardsman. "I-I did not mean to disturb your rest."

"That's quite alright," said Valarya. "What can I do for you?"

"My lady, I've been told to inform you that Vicentus Antorius, Lord-Commander of the Imperial Legion, has arrived here at the manor, and that he requests an audience."

Valarya practically leapt out of bed.

"The Lord-Commander is _here_?! Right now?" Valarya exclaimed, her shock utterly transparent.

"He is, Lady Drethen," answered the guardsman. "He is currently in the main foyer, waiting to be let up."

 _Great, just what I bloody need right now_.

"He is not expected…" said Valarya.

"I…I can send him away, my lady, if you are unwell," the guard offered.

"No, that won't be necessary," said Valarya. "Escort him to my husband's study. Tell him I will join him shortly."

"As you wish, Lady Drethen. Is there anything else you require?"

"Yes. Get rid of that wastebasket over there and have one of the servants clean it," said Valarya. "You may wish to plug your nose." The guard did as he was told and promptly left the master bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

"What in Oblivion could Antorius possibly want?" Valarya muttered to herself. Not about to waste any time uselessly pondering, she rushed over to the mirror above her vanity. As expected, she looked as miserable as she felt. Never in a million years would Valarya Drethen have dared dream of meeting an important guest like Vicentus Antorius in nothing but her housecoat, but the man's rather unforeseen visit left her with no time to dress, or groom herself properly. With the little time she did have, Valarya simply washed her face and brushed her hair, admittedly far more hurriedly than she would have preferred.

"Lady Valarya Drethen, the puking mess," the Dunmer woman quipped to herself as she looked herself over again in the mirror. Although she was far from looking forward to conversing with Lord-Commander Antorius, Valarya knew it would be rude to keep a man of his station waiting for too long.

Figuring her appearance was as good as it would ever be, Lady Drethen left the master bedroom and set off to greet her guest.

* * *

Vicentus Antorius was already in Alarys's study when Valarya entered. The man was keenly admiring the exquisite ebony crossbow that hung proudly from the wall. So enamored was he, that Valarya wondered if he even heard her enter the room.

"Lord-Commander Antorius," said Valarya, announcing her presence. The Imperial turned around and finally took notice of her. "Please allow me to formally welcome you to Drethen Manor. I hope the servants have seen to your needs." Valarya addressed her esteemed guest with far more cordiality than she felt any soldier of the Empire deserved.

"Lady Drethen," greeted the Lord-Commander of Morrowind's Imperial Legion. The Imperial gentleman gave the Dunmer woman a respectful bow. "It is my honor to be allowed into your splendid home, and I thank you for accepting my request for audience on such awfully short notice." The Lord-Commander spoke with a powerful, deep, and authoritative voice.

"I must admit, you do catch me at an inopportune time," Valarya replied. "I'm afraid I've been quite under the weather since I awoke. Please do forgive my…unfortunate appearance."

"This is your home, Lady Drethen. There is no need to apologize."

Valarya had to admit, the Lord-Commander's own appearance was quite impressive and refined. The Imperial man was garbed in a lavish dark-blue velvet tunic, underneath a black doublet, upon which could be seen a small embroidery of the Imperial Dragon sigil on the left breast pocket. Vicentus Antorius was tall for an Imperial, with a relatively broad, imposing physique. He possessed an attractive, but also stern visage, which was completed by his thick dark hair that was neatly combed back. Lord-Commander Antorius looked every bit like the brave, formidable warrior. Valarya supposed he wouldn't have attained the esteemed rank of Knight of the Imperial Dragon if the case were otherwise.

"In fact, it is I who should apologize," Vicentus spoke again. "I realize it is poor form to turn up to your home unannounced, and I imagine this is no small inconvenience for you. But you must understand, a man with my responsibilities is immensely busy, and this is the only chance I will have to visit here for some time. And besides, I know that to send someone else here to speak on my behalf would only be a grave insult to you."

"I appreciate your courtesy, Lord-Commander," Valarya replied. "Would you perhaps care for a drink before we speak further?"

"I wouldn't mind some sujamma, if you have it," the Imperial replied. "I may be a man of Cyrodiil, but when it comes to drinks, Morrowind can't be beat."

"Now there we can agree," said Valarya. She opened her husband's liquor cabinet, removing one of the several bottles of sujamma and pouring each of them a glass. Valarya poured only a small amount for herself, as she did not wish to risk upsetting her stomach again.

"A fine weapon, that is," Vicentus commented, turning his attention back to the crossbow on the wall. "Your husband's, I presume?"

"His most prized possession," Valarya answered. "It was a gift to him, long ago, from his father no less."

"I am somewhat adept with a crossbow," Vicentus said. "Were our relations better, I would perhaps ask your husband to shoot with me sometime."

"Alarys would gladly take you up on that, believe it or not," said Valarya. "Even today, my husband is the best shot in Morrowind, and he never turns down a chance to demonstrate that to others." Valarya brought over their drinks, handing the legionnaire his glass.

"Thank you, Lady Drethen," said the Imperial.

"Please, do call me Valarya," the woman replied. "Having to hear 'Lady Drethen' all day, every day, gets old after a while."

"As you wish," smiled the Imperial.

"With all respect due, Valarya," Vicentus began, taking a sip of his drink, "I did come here in the hope of speaking with your husband."

"Alarys is away today, conducting important business in Tear. I'm afraid he'll be gone all day," said Valarya. The Dunmer woman took a seat in her husband's chair behind his desk, sitting with a straight, formal posture that bore the grace and authority of a queen on a throne.

"As such, the plantation is under my charge until he returns," Valarya stated. "Anything you can discuss with him, you can discuss with me."

"I have no problem with that, Valarya," the Imperial nodded respectfully.

"You should also know that my husband did not react well to your most recent letter," Valarya remarked.

"I suspected he might not have," said Vicentus.

"Having said all that, I do indeed find myself curious as to the nature of this visit," said Valarya, folding her hands together.

"Would you mind if we perhaps continued this discussion outside?" requested the Lord-Commander. "It is a most gorgeous day, and I feel it would be a shame to be cooped up inside."

"I quite agree," replied Valarya. "Fresh air would certainly do me some good. Feel free to head to the gardens and make yourself comfortable. I will be with you after I have properly dressed. Should you need anything, do not hesitate to ask any of the guards or servants."

"Very well, Valarya. I shall await you outside."

* * *

Valarya felt substantially better the instant she stepped outside. The hot, fresh summer air did wonders in alleviating what remained of her sickness. The light, sweeping breeze grazing her skin brought to her an invigorating, refreshing sensation. The rejuvenated Valarya merely stood there in place for several moments, her eyes closed, her hair blowing behind her head as she silently took in the beautiful morning.

Valarya strode briskly through the manor's front courtyard as she set off to find Lord-Commander Antorius. Knowing this would be yet another hot day, Lady Drethen had opted for a simple outfit. A black sleeveless blouse, with a wine-red skirt that came just above her knees. Valarya figured that was modest enough for the Lord-Commander's company, but would also keep her cool in this weather.

Coming to the eastern end of Drethen Manor, Valarya strolled across the rich cobblestone pathway that led through the trees and into the gardens. She passed by several busy servants, all of whom gave a respectful nod to the lady of the manor.

When time permitted, Valarya would often personally help in maintaining the extensive garden, even sometimes working alongside the other gardeners. Any chance she got to work outdoors, and get away from her desk and the piles of monotonous paperwork, she was immensely grateful for.

After a few minutes of searching, Valarya found Lord-Commander Antorius wandering around deep within the luscious garden. The Imperial was deeply admiring the vast, resplendent flowerbeds and red rosebushes that blossomed all throughout.

"My lady, I do hope you are feeling better," the Imperial said upon noticing Valarya.

"I am, actually. Thank you," replied the Dunmer.

"If you don't mind my saying so, Valarya, you look very dashing," Vicentus complimented with a smile.

"You flatter me, Lord-Commander," Valarya replied with a coy smirk. "If you will follow me, I'll take us someplace we can sit down." The Dunmer and Imperial continued along the stone pathway, passing by the windswept flowers that were practically glowing beneath the warm, golden sunlight.

Valarya led them to a wide clearing in the gardens. A large, wooden pavilion sat comfortably atop a slightly elevated hill, providing a breathtaking view of the surrounding trees and flora. Upon both of them taking a seat underneath the pavilion, comfortably shaded from the sun, Valarya then ordered for a servant to bring them a bottle of wine and some glasses.

"This is truly a beautiful place you have here, Valarya," Vicentus complimented. "With most of my days being spent stuck inside Imperial forts and staring at stone walls, it is a rare thing when I receive the chance to sit outside and bask in nature's wonder."

"When I'm not busy inside the manor, you'll more often than not find me here, with a book in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other," Valarya said. "I've always encouraged Alarys to do the same, but he prefers to spend his free time either fishing at the nearby lake, or hunting in the woods with his crossbow."

The servant returned just then, setting down the wine and glasses before promptly taking her leave. Valarya poured them each a glass.

"Cheers," said the Imperial, as he and Valarya brought their glasses together.

"So, Lord-Commander Antorius, I think it's about time we got to the business at hand," stated Valarya, taking the first sip of her wine. "It is obvious you would not have come here on such short notice were it not regarding something important."

"A correct assertion, my lady," Vicentus replied, taking a mouthful of wine from his own glass.

"Before we speak further, I'm going to be perfectly blunt with you, Lord-Commander," said Valarya, with a sudden curt voice. "You know perfectly well that my husband and I are no lovers of the Empire. When you arrived here, I was puking like a sick dog, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep well into the afternoon. I have many important matters to which I must attend today, so believe me when I say this meeting better not be a waste of my time."

"I…I understand your sentiment, Valarya," said the Imperial. "Wasting your time is the last thing I would dream of doing."

"Well, to begin this discussion, I suppose I will first let you in on what will be, at least for you and your husband, some good news," said Vicentus. "As you well know, I have been making great efforts to try and eradicate the ancient practice of slavery across Morrowind. As of late, I have been trying to gradually persuade many of this country's plantation owners, like your husband, to release their captive slaves and grant them their rightful freedoms. In addition to this, I have also been very vocal about this matter to King Helseth himself, and have tried extensively to convince him to put an end to slavery for good."

Valarya placed a hand on her stomach, taking a brief sip of her wine.

"Yes, Lord-Commander, we are all _quite_ aware of your oh so noble, virtuous crusade to end the evils of slavery," Valarya retorted, with the most mocking and scornful tone of voice she could conjure. "Believe me, it is going to take much more than letters with veiled threats to scare us into forfeiting our ancient, protected rights."

"Well, you may feel free to put those worries to rest," said Vicentus. "Last week, I received an explicit order, from Cyrodiil no less, to immediately cease and desist all efforts regarding the abolition of slavery until further notice."

Valarya couldn't suppress the smirk that crossed her face.

 _So, it appears Orvas Dren actually came through for us. I may not like the man, but I'll give him the credit he deserves_.

"That is…most unexpected," said Valarya, feigning surprise.

"I was less than pleased upon receiving this order, and I greatly suspect a shadowy plot to be behind this," said the Imperial. "But as of right now, I'm afraid I am in little position to contest. With the worsening ash storms sweeping across the land, as well as these newfound rumors of twisted, diseased creatures breaching the Ghostfence and swarming into Vvardenfell, the Legion may very well have its hands full in the near future."

"What happens in Vvardenfell is of little concern to us," Valarya stated. "House Dres has never held any lands there. Should anything happen to that oversized chunk of rock, the Dunmer here will continue to prosper as we always have."

"Yes, well, the point being, the practice of slavery will continue unhindered for the time being," said Vicentus. "So all the plantation owners of Morrowind can rest easy."

"How disappointed you must be, that despite your best efforts, your hopes of oppressing a race different from your own and stripping them of their gods-given rights were all for naught," Valarya practically spat. "I know the Empire gets off by conquering foreign lands and forcing their citizens to assimilate to its views. It absolutely kills you that even centuries after Tiber Septim's conquest, Morrowind continues to resist Imperial rule, and I can see how this must be a blow to your pride."

"Perhaps someday," continued Valarya, "your Emperor will grow a brain and realize his Empire is unwanted in Morrowind, and he'll send all you legionnaires back to Cyrodiil with your tails between your legs." Lady Drethen took a generous mouthful of wine, while Lord-Commander Antorius let out a defeated sigh.

"I have heard many legends during my time here in Morrowind," said Vicentus, after a tense silence, "and of those legends, one of the most prominent, has been the sharp tongue of Valarya Drethen. To experience it for myself is almost an honor."

"Surely you did not come to my home just to tell me this, Lord-Commander," said Valarya, skirting his flattery. "You could have said all this with a mere written letter."

"Another correct assertion, my lady," replied Vicentus.

"Well, let's hear it then," said Valarya, readying herself for whatever the man was to say next.

"The other reason I came here, my lady," began the Imperial, "was actually to request a favor from you."

"A favor…" said a curious Valarya, raising an eyebrow.

"Believe me when I say I am swallowing a considerable amount of pride coming to you with this," said the Imperial.

"Well, don't leave me in suspense, Lord-Commander," Valarya said teasingly.

"As of late, the Imperial Legion of Morrowind has been facing significant financial difficulty," stated Vicentus, the shame in his voice transparent. "Without divulging specifics, for roughly a year now, the Legion has been struggling to pay for even the most basic necessities, not the least of which being unable to pay our own soldiers."

"On top of that, the bulk of the Legion's forces are currently equipped with sub-par weapons and armor, as we are unable to afford improved equipment. Many of our forts and bases are crumbling. If we cannot acquire the funds to make the needed repairs, at this rate, I fear several of my garrisons will have to abandon them outright."

"Do you not receive enough money from your beloved taxpayers?" Valarya retorted, taking another sip of her wine. Vicentus knew that the Drethens had never once paid a single coin to the Empire in taxes. A fact that they were all too proud of.

"If that were the case, I wouldn't be here," replied the Imperial. "And despite my repeated requests to Cyrodiil for more money, I continue to be denied. Sometimes, I cannot shake the feeling that the powers that be in the Imperial City are deliberately allowing this to happen, so as to give them an excuse to strip me of my command."

"Lord-Commander, I grow increasingly bored of this conversation," Valarya said tersely. "If you would kindly skip the sob story and get to why I'm supposed to care about your hardships, which, as far as I can see, are born from nothing but your own incompetence."

"Lady Valarya, you hate the Empire. I understand that fully," said Vicentus. "I also understand that the Drethens are one of the wealthiest, and most highly respected families in Morrowind. And that is why I ask you now, if you would consider loaning a substantial sum of gold to the Imperial Legion, despite your unfavorable opinion towards us."

A long, tense silence hung in the air. Vicentus Antorius waited with bated breath for Lady Drethen's response. He fully expected the woman to reject the notion as soon as it passed his lips. The fact that she seemed to be pondering his request gave him a sliver of hope.

A sliver of hope that vanished when Valarya began outright laughing.

"Lord-Commander Antorius, you disappoint me," the Dunmer continued to laugh mockingly. "The noble knight in shining armor, seeking to free the poor slaves from their chains, now reduced to begging for money. Money, I might add, that is made from the sweat and blood of the very slaves you seek so valiantly to free."

"Oh don't look so glum, Lord-Commander," said Valarya. "Surely you can appreciate the irony of all this as I do."

"Like I said, I am swallowing considerable pride in asking you for this," said Vicentus despondently. "I knew coming here was a stupid idea. I was a fool to think you would consider it."

"I never said that, my dear Antorius," replied Valarya. While her first instinct was of course to reject the man's request for a loan, Valarya prided herself on sniffing out opportunities in a given situation. And the more Valarya thought this over, so did she find an opportunity for she and Alarys to gain from this.

"How much money are you asking for?" Valarya inquired. The Imperial man was silent, a surprised expression crossing his face.

"Don't be shy, Lord-Commander. How much?" Valarya asked again.

Vicentus Antorius took a deep breath.

"One million drakes will pay for everything I wish to accomplish, and hopefully get my Legion back in order," said the Imperial.

"That is no small amount of money, Lord-Commander," said Valarya. "If my husband and I are to loan you this money, you of course understand that we expect full repayment, and your interest rate will be substantial."

"I understand," said the Imperial. "I do not require an answer straight away. I'm sure you'll wish to discuss this with your husband thoroughly."

"Oh, I make no promises that I'll be able to convince Alarys to go for this," said Valarya. "But I will speak with him about this all the same."

"I appreciate it, Valarya," smiled Vicentus. Finishing his wine, the Imperial eagerly reached for the bottle and refilled his glass.

"Was there…something else?" asked Valarya. Clearly she had expected this to be the end of this conversation.

"As a matter of fact, there is," answered the Imperial, giving a smile that made Lady Drethen uneasy. "The last thing I wished to discuss with you, is concerning your son, Serys."

Valarya gasped, her eyes wide with dread.

"Serys? What about him?" asked a visibly panicked Valarya. "Has something happened to him? Is he hurt? What's wrong?!"

A smug grin swept across Vicentus Antorius's face.

"Even the mightiest dragon has one weak scale," chuckled the Imperial, "and it would seem I have just found Valarya Drethen's." The man couldn't believe the drastic shift in the Dunmer woman's demeanor.

"I am his mother. Do not torment me like this," commanded Lady Drethen, trying to keep her composure.

"Fear not, my lady. Your son is perfectly fine," said the Imperial. Valarya put a shaking hand to her mouth, giving a sob of relief. "Though, I'm afraid to say, Serys's days as a soldier in the Imperial Legion may be numbered, and he may soon be discharged."

"I don't…I don't understand," said Valarya, her facial expression one of confusion. "What has he done?"

"Serys's superior officer wishes to have him discharged for insubordination," stated Vicentus, "but I know that is only a fabricated excuse. The simple truth is, Serys Drethen is the son of one of Morrowind's most prominent slavers, and this, unfortunately, is a shadow that has loomed over him his entire career in the Legion. Your son has grown to be unpopular, and greatly disliked amongst his fellow soldiers, and his superiors have made known to me their intent to remove him from the Legion's ranks."

Valarya was in utter disbelief at what she was hearing.

"This isn't fair…" she replied, in almost a whisper. "You cannot mean to tell me you are allowing this to proceed. You must do something!"

"I must say, I would've thought you'd be happy about this," remarked Vicentus. "Considering your hatred of the Legion, and all."

"My feelings toward the Legion are irrelevant," Valarya stated. "Serys is my son. His choices are his own. I want him to be happy, no matter what path he chooses in life. This is one matter where Serys's father and I differ greatly in opinion."

"Well, as head of the Legion in Morrowind, I felt it to be my personal obligation to inform you of this matter," said the Imperial. "From the few times I've met him, Serys seemed to be a good soldier."

"Lord-Commander, do you truly intend to stand idly by while my son is wrongfully discharged from the Legion?" Valarya chided. "There must be some way you can intercede and have this decision reversed. You're the highest-ranking legionnaire in Morrowind! Please, I ask you…do not allow this to happen. Please, help my son." Vicentus Antorius took a deep breath, leaning forward in his seat.

"Theoretically, yes, I could intervene and veto Serys's imminent discharge," said the Imperial, "but what you need to understand, my lady, is that it would be considered poor form on my part to do so."

"Every soldier in the Imperial Legion is solely the responsibility of his, or her direct superior officer," explained the Lord-Commander. "For the most part, all officers in the Legion command their subordinates with complete autonomy, and are free to deal with them as they see fit. Decisions such as recruiting, as well as discharging soldiers are left to the sole discretion of each officer, and very rarely will those decisions be contested by their own superiors. As it is, Valarya, I'm afraid there's little I can do for your son. I am sorry."

"There's little you _can_ do? Or little you _will_ do?" Valarya spat. "You expect me to buy that load of tripe for even one fleeting second?!"

"My lady, I know you're upset, but please try to understand. I am responsible for overseeing every Imperial garrison in all of Morrowind. Many grand, important matters require my attention, and I'm afraid I just do not have the time to look after each individual soldier in my legion. What's happening to your son is truly regrettable, Valarya, and I do deeply apologize."

Valarya chuckled in pure contempt and disgust.

"So this is what the mighty, fabled Imperial Legion has been reduced to?" spat Valarya. "Unfairly getting rid of a soldier, based solely on the deeds of his parents? And you won't lift a damn finger to help him? Perhaps I was too hasty in my decision to consider your loan." The Imperial's resolve appeared to remain unwavering by Valarya's words. Vicentus took a long sip of his wine, and for several moments, an uneasy silence lingered between them.

"Answer me something, my lady," Vicentus finally spoke, his face showing what looked to be a leering smile. "Just how much does your son's happiness _truly_ mean to you?"

"Serys's happiness means the entire world to me," the Dunmer woman replied, suddenly growing substantially more uncomfortable, and she slightly recoiled back in her seat. "Why do you ask…?"

The Imperial chuckled. "Well, my lady, let's just say, there might be a way that you could… _persuade_ me, to intervene on your dear son's behalf. If you catch my meaning."

Valarya was almost sick again.

"You aren't…" she began with a shuddered breath, "you aren't saying what I think you're saying…"

"Is it really the most outrageous idea in the world, Valarya?" the man sneered. "You are an extraordinarily beautiful, and desirable woman, and I am the most powerful legionnaire in the land. And besides, this _is_ all for your dear son, is it not?" The sight of Lord-Commander Antorius now brought nothing but genuine disgust and revulsion to Valarya with each passing second.

"Was this the true purpose of this meeting?" Lady Drethen inquired, her voice betraying every bit of her abhorrence towards the Imperial. "To use my own son as a tool of blackmail? To use him as a means of reducing me to a common whore? That is what all this has been about?"

"Valarya, I-"

"Do not. _Ever_. Speak my name again," the woman practically hissed. "This conversation is finished."

"My-my lady, think about this-"

"I'd like you to leave, Lord-Commander," Lady Drethen commanded, standing from her seat. "The plantation guards will escort you from the property. Because I am in a generous mood, if you leave this very moment and refrain from offending me further, I will not only consider not telling Alarys about any of this, but I will still speak with him about that loan."

"My lady, think about what you're doing," said Vicentus, remarkably still persistent. "Clearly, you are failing to comprehend that I can literally make, or break Serys's career in the Legion."

The fuming Valarya stood there in stunned silence, the venomous words of this revolting man slowly clawing into her mind. With one hand, she clutched her once again aching stomach, while the other clenched tight against the chair. With shuddering breaths and stifled sobs, Lady Drethen summoned every ounce of strength within her to try and keep herself together.

"You told me that Serys's happiness means the world to you, my lady," said Vicentus. "What kind of mother would you be if your son was removed from the Legion, and you could have done something to stop it?"

"What kind of _wife_ would I be if I laid with another man?!" cried Valarya. The woman shut her eyes as tears began to flow freely.

"Surely, one moment of infidelity is worth saving your son's career in the Legion?" sneered the Imperial. "I promise you, my lady, I can personally see to it that Serys has a long, prosperous, and successful career in the Imperial Legion. With one letter to his superior officer, I can make this unfair discharge vanish into thin air."

"All I ask in return," said Vicentus with a menacing voice, "is that his mother lay with me one single time, and that she fully submit to me."

Valarya Drethen wanted nothing more than to punch this man unconscious where he sat, or order her guards to beat him to a bleeding mess. However, she still possessed enough sense to know such a precipitous action would only end in an unfavorable outcome for her, and for Serys.

Regaining her composure, Lady Drethen turned to face the Knight of the Imperial Dragon. She slowly walked toward him, still seated in his chair, and stared into his hazel eyes. Sitting on the Imperial's lap, she then placed her hand on his knee and began to gently rub.

This only emboldened the Imperial, and the man grabbed Valarya with both hands, pulling her closer to him. A smug, sickening smile swept across Vicentus's face.

"I knew you were a smart woman," spoke the man as he ogled Valarya like some prize, pleased as could be. After a fierce battle of words, he had bested Valarya Drethen herself, and she was now right in the palm of his hand. As far as Vicentus Antorius could see, for this single, brief moment, Lady Drethen belonged to him.

Now assured of his triumph, Vicentus was ready to take this further. His hand slid up Valarya's body, and the Dunmer woman trembled as he firmly grabbed her breast. Grinning proudly, the Imperial then moved in to kiss her.

"Wait," said Valarya suddenly, raising her hand to stop the man.

"What's wrong, my lady?" asked the Imperial, staring into her red eyes.

"There is something I wish to show you," the woman replied, "if you would spare but a few minutes." A slightly puzzled look crossed Vicentus's face.

"Very well. If that is your wish, my lady," he said. They both stood up after that.

"Please, this way, Lord-Commander, if you will follow me," said Valarya as she stepped out of the pavilion.

"Lead the way, my lady."

Valarya led Lord-Commander Antorius further into the gardens. They stayed on the stone pathway, coming across many twists and turns through the seemingly endless flowerbeds, salient and colorful.

After several more minutes of walking silently, the Dunmer and Imperial at last came to the end of the path, and now stood before a pointed metal gate. Without saying a word, Valarya gently pushed the gate open. The gate gave a small creak at the hinges as it moved.

Stepping through the gate, the two of them now stood in the Drethen family cemetery. As far as the eye could see, rows and rows of countless graves and tall, opulent monuments stood within the thick grass, each of them as old and decrepit as the one beside it, and the written inscriptions long withered from view.

The extensive graveyard was largely shaded from the sun, due to the numerous towering dead, barren trees that cast an eerie, looming darkness all throughout.

"The Drethens are one of the oldest families in Morrowind, and every Drethen that has ever lived is buried here," stated Valarya.

"I, uh…I see," said Vicentus.

"Mind you, those buried here are by and large distant relatives, and even offshoot branches of the Drethen family," the Dunmer explained. "Alarys's direct bloodline, the one that has traditionally headed the family and owned the manor, are entombed in the mausoleum."

"M-mausoleum?" inquired the Imperial.

"Yes, Lord-Commander," Valarya smiled, "please, allow me to show you."

"We aren't…we aren't going _inside_ …?" asked Vicentus, visibly nervous.

"Why my dear Antorius, you wouldn't be afraid of the dark now, would you?" Valarya gave the Imperial a teasing smile.

"Well, actually, now that you mention it…"

This elicited a chuckle from Valarya.

"And now it would seem _I_ have found _your_ weak scale, Lord-Commander," she said, clearly enjoying the man's unease. "We'll only be inside a short moment. Surely a mighty warrior such as yourself can handle that?"

"Yes, of course I can," the man answered, trying to sound brave.

"Splendid. If you will please follow me then," said Valarya.

The Dunmer and Imperial came to the mausoleum shortly thereafter. The blackened stones of the colossal structure were visibly ancient. Though the mausoleum had been greatly withered and worn through the centuries, the sinister looking building was no less sumptuous and ornate to behold.

A mild wind blew across the cemetery as Valarya and Vicentus approached the mausoleum's entrance, the tall grass swaying gently. Approaching the set of arched double-doors, Valarya brandished a key and unlocked the right-hand side door. With a couple hard shoves of her body, the heavy door budged, and Valarya pushed it open.

"After you, Lord-Commander," Valarya gestured with her hand. The Imperial was still visibly fearful and remained still.

"We will not be in here long, I promise," Valarya assured. With that, Vicentus complied, slowly stepping inside the mausoleum. Valarya then entered directly after him, the door giving a mighty rumble as she then closed it behind them.

* * *

Valarya grabbed one of the nearby torches from the wall before lighting it with a flame spell. Carrying the ignited torch in her left hand, the Dunmer woman led the Imperial down the long, stone stairway that descended into the bowels of the blackened crypt.

"My lady, I-I would feel considerably more comfortable if I knew why we are down here," said Vicentus, trailing closely behind Valarya.

"All in good time, Lord-Commander," was all the woman said. "I would strongly suggest you stay close." And so they descended further down the stairs, their footsteps echoing through the enshrouding darkness.

"Tell me something, Lord-Commander," said Valarya, "just why exactly are you afraid of the dark?"

"Ah, it's all a bit silly, if I'm being entirely honest," answered the Imperial. "I was a bit of a rascal as a young'un. My parents would always warn me that if I didn't behave, that I would be snatched away by evil ghosts in the middle of the night as I slept."

"Aww, that's terrible," Valarya replied.

"I possessed a vivid imagination as a boy," said the Imperial, "and many a night I would lie awake, too frightened to sleep, completely frozen with dread that my parents' words were true. And when I did sleep, all too often would I suffer from harrowing nightmares. I know they only meant well, but that has stayed with me my whole life. As it turns out, some childhood fears never completely dissipate."

Valarya and Vicentus at last reached the bottom of the stairway, and now stood within the depths of the main catacomb. Now countless feet beneath the ground, nothing could be seen from any direction but complete, utter blackness. The only source of light was the shimmering flame of Valarya's torch, which cast a dim, flickering shadow upon the floor.

The wide, extensive undercroft led on further than the eye could see in all directions. Darkness and haunting silence ruled these halls, permeating throughout every last inch of the enormous vault. Every sound that was uttered, every footstep that was taken, every whisper that was breathed, echoed and resonated clearly through the black void.

"So, now what?" asked Vicentus, his voice making known his uncertainty.

"We continue straight ahead," answered Lady Drethen. "This crypt is no small place, and it is quite easy to become lost. Stay close to me, and all will be well." With that, Valarya continued forward, with the Imperial wisely following close behind.

The two continued onward for some time, with Valarya's torch cutting through the pervading darkness, illuminating the way ahead. Neither one of them spoke a word. The only sounds that could be heard were the crackling flames of the torch, and their own footsteps that reverberated throughout the tomb.

Valarya made a sudden left turn, checking behind her to ensure Vicentus was still following. His growing fear was plain for her to see, and she grinned with no small sense of satisfaction.

The Dunmer and Imperial were now in a narrow corridor, which just happened to be one, out of many of the crypt's burial chambers. The subtle, but unmistakable stench of death, rot, and decay lingered in the stale, murky air.

The light of the torch made visible the numerous alcoves carved within the walls of the burial chamber. Heavily crumbled sarcophagi lay within the deep recesses of the stone walls, most of them adorned with valuable treasures and heirlooms. Ornate burial urns and ossuaries decorated the chamber, some of them next to the caskets, while others rested upon marble slabs spread throughout the room.

They did not remain in this room for long. Valarya led Vicentus through more hallways and chambers, making many twists and turns on their path. Lady Drethen did not even have to look at the Imperial to know he was growing more frightened. His breaths were gradually becoming more erratic as he was struggling to keep himself together.

"My-my lady, I…I don't like it down here," the Imperial said with a wavering voice. "Just what is it you wish to show me? How much further?"

"Not far," she answered, collected as could be. "Do try to keep calm, would you?"

"Yes, my lady." With that, the two pressed forward.

After a few more turns, Valarya led Vicentus through another long hallway. More disintegrated caskets lined the walls, complemented by more golden urns and ragged tapestries that hung from above.

"So, is every one of your husband's ancestors buried down here, my lady?" asked Vicentus, trying to break the uneasy silence.

"Every last one," replied Valarya. "Alarys's ancestry traces all the way back to the days of the Chimer, when they ruled jointly over Resdayn with the Dwemer. In fact, during the War of the First Council, the Drethens actually served Voryn Dagoth, and fought alongside him at Red Mountain. When House Dagoth was dissolved after the war, they swore allegiance to House Dres."

Coming to the end of that corridor, Vicentus and Valarya now stood within a wide, square-shaped chamber, with a single tunnel leading the way forward. Along all sides of the chamber were numerous immaculate, marble statues that stood tall and proudly, almost as if they were staring straight down at the two of them.

"Fear not, Lord-Commander. We are almost there," Valarya assured. She led them out of the chamber, and into the tunnel.

Just a short ways down the dark tunnel, a metal gate suddenly blocked their path. Lady Drethen took out the same key from earlier, and the gate was soon opened. Strangely, however, Valarya did not move. Instead, she only pointed her torch forward, looking at the bemused Imperial beside her.

"Go through that gate, Lord-Commander, and tell me what you see," she ordered. The man's eyes grew wide with dread at her command, his whole body quivering.

"Go on," she urged, nodding her head to that direction. "I'll be right here." With a deep breath and a nod, the Imperial complied, carefully stepping through the gate.

Valarya stood by the gate, extending her torch forward to provide light for the Lord-Commander. Vicentus crept forward slowly into the darkness. Lady Drethen moved forward a step, raising her torch higher to better light the way for the Imperial. The man looked back at her again before heading forward again several more steps.

Vicentus Antorius let out a terrified cry as he spotted the rotted skeleton lying on the ground.

"By the Nine!" the Imperial wailed, stumbling for a brief moment before he turned tail and began to dash back to Valarya.

 _And now I have you, Lord-Commander_.

Valarya slammed the metal gate shut, relocking it with her key. The Imperial man, now trapped on the other side, grabbed onto the gate, trying frantically to pull it open.

"What are you doing?" the man panicked, yanking harder on the gate. "What in Oblivion is this?!"

"That skeleton you just saw, Lord-Commander," said Valarya, "once belonged to a man who was the leader of a pack of bandits. A pack of bandits that were bold enough, _and_ stupid enough, to intercept one of our shipment caravans, and hold it for ransom." Vicentus looked at Valarya with total dread as she spoke.

"The fact this poor sod is down here now," Valarya smiled, "well, I'm sure you can imagine how well that plan worked out for him."

"My-my lady…I-I," Vicentus stammered, shaking with absolute terror.

"What I wished to show you, Lord-Commander," began Valarya, "is that it is not only the Drethens that are kept down here. But also, their enemies."

"L-Lady Drethen, please. Unlock the gate," pleaded the Imperial, "let me out! I can explain everything!" The Lord-Commander was literally on the verge of tears now.

"Oh I do believe you've explained enough already," Valarya retorted, almost playfully. "You've explained that you see me as nothing but a cheap whore. You have explained that you do not respect the sanctity of marriage. You have explained that you believe you can waltz into someone's home uninvited, drink their wine, accept their hospitality, ask them for a ludicrous sum of money, and then use their own child to blackmail them into fucking you."

"My lady, I swear I meant nothing by that," said the shuddering man. "I'm sorry, my lady! Truly, I am sorry!"

Valarya scoffed. "You meant nothing by it? Well if that is the case, how do I know this apology doesn't also mean nothing?"

"My lady, I am begging you…please don't do this!" Vicentus cried, clutching the gate even more firmly.

"Directly behind you, Lord-Commander, beyond that tunnel," said Valarya, raising her torch, "lies the main burial chamber. Thousands are interred in that room. Thousands, whose restless souls still linger these halls, and have sworn to defend them from any unwanted individuals."

"Lady Drethen, I beg your forgiveness," quivered Vicentus Antorius. "I acted like a fool, I know that. Please, let me out! I'm sorry!"

The Dunmer woman smiled, taking a step back away from the gate.

"You aren't sorry for a damn thing," Lady Drethen raised her right hand, curling her fingers into a claw. "But you will be."

A sphere of dark magical energy began to swirl in Valarya's hand. She eyed the trembling Imperial with every ounce of hatred inside her.

"What in Oblivion are you doing…?" the terrified man asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Valarya closed her eyes, focusing the entirety of her magical potential into her spell. The woman began to recite an incantation in the Dunmeri tongue, her voice morphing into an almost demonic tone as it echoed through the catacombs.

Just then, an ear-piercing shriek resounded from the black tunnel behind Lord-Commander Antorius. This was followed by another, and another after that, and yet another. Vicentus whipped around and backed against the locked gate, panicking immensely as he struggled to stand on his two feet.

"Your parents were right, Lord-Commander," Valarya said. "Evil ghosts _do_ come for boys who do not behave. You will soon find that your decision to come here unarmed, was a most unwise one."

Lady Drethen continued her incantation, the magic energy in her hand swirling more wildly. Her voice rang through the looming darkness. The insidious shrieks from the tunnel grew closer, ever closer, and Vicentus Antorius looked as if he were ready to soil himself.

Valarya opened her eyes. Behind Vicentus, four spectral wraiths emerged from the black.

"Oh gods!" cried the man as he spotted the skeletal, disfigured phantoms hovering before his very eyes.

"Open this gate, Valarya!" Vicentus shouted with as much authority as he could muster. "In the name of the Imperial Legion! In the name of the Emperor! I _order_ you to open this gate at once!" The Imperial shook the metal gate like a madman.

Valarya's expression was almost blank.

"Your orders fall on the ears of the dead, Vicentus Antorius," she spoke, "and the dead will not heed them." Lady Drethen raised her hand. The spell in her palm grew, and the wraiths began closing in on the hapless legionnaire, their shrill hisses and wails nearly deafening.

"Please don't do this, Valarya!" pleaded the legionnaire. "I don't want to die down here! I've already apologized countless times! What else do you want?! What will it take to make you end this madness?!"

"I don't want your damned apologies, n-wah!" the Dunmer shot back. "You know exactly what I want!" The legionnaire looked at her, his eyes growing only more fearful as the ghosts gradually closed on his position.

"Please, Valarya! I'll do anything! Anything you say!" cried the Lord-Commander, dropping to his knees. "Anything you want, just name it! Please don't kill me, Lady Drethen!"

Valarya spoke a command in the Dunmeri tongue, and the wraiths stayed in place.

"Serys," she said. "I want you to help Serys. I want you to do everything in your power to make this discharge my son is facing disappear, forever."

"It's done, my lady! Consider it done!" the Imperial agreed without hesitation.

"Consider _what_ done?" asked Valarya sternly.

"Serys's discharge, I will kill it in its tracks," said the Imperial, looking up at Valarya. "I will personally see to it that your son receives fair treatment from his officers from this day forward, and that he faces no more problems. For good measure, I'll even throw in a promotion! Now please, call off these ghosts, my lady!"

Valarya stepped directly in front of the gate.

"You promise me this?" the woman asked.

"I give you my word, Lady Drethen, as a knight of the Empire," Vicentus answered. The man was a sobbing mess.

"Don't tell me that you promise," said Valarya. "Show me." She reached her still glowing hand through the bars of the metal gate.

Getting the hint immediately, Vicentus took the woman's hand, kissing it eagerly all over. When he stopped, he looked up at her with pleading eyes, silently begging for his life.

Lady Drethen unclenched her hand. The dark magic in her fingers dissipated, and the summoned specters vanished. She unlocked the gate, and Vicentus practically collapsed straight to the ground.

Valarya lent the man a compassionate hand, and helped pull him back up to his feet. The legionnaire was still shaking in terror, his breaths frantic and panicked.

"Easy does it, Lord-Commander," said Valarya, her voice now gentle and soothing. "Easy does it, now."

"Is it…is it over?" asked the Imperial, trying to pull himself together after that ordeal.

"Yes," assured Valarya, and Vicentus let out a breath of relief. "I do believe you have learned your lesson." A few moments later, the Lord-Commander finally stopped shaking, and tried to stand up straight, with whatever dignity the man still had left.

"So, my son. You will help him," Valarya reaffirmed. Vicentus looked at her, giving her a nod.

"I am a man of my word, Lady Drethen," the Imperial answered, his voice still shaky. "Serys's problems within the Legion are as good as gone. This I swear to you." Valarya gave a pleased grin.

"Good," she said. "Please allow me to escort you back outside."

"You stay away from me, you damned vixen. Stay away!" Vicentus barked. "I'll find my own damn way out! Just…stay away, you vindictive witch!" Valarya took no offense to the man's words. His reaction was entirely expected by her. After all, he did literally just live through his worst childhood nightmare.

"You and your husband deserve each other, you know that?" the man hissed. Valarya merely gazed at him, a faint smile crossing her face.

"Will you still be wanting that loan we discussed?" the Dunmer sneered.

"If the Legion were not in such dire need of gold, I'd tell you to shove it," the Imperial shot back.

"Do watch your step on the way back up, Lord-Commander," was all she said. And with that, Vicentus Antorius, the Lord-Commander of Morrowind's Imperial Legion, and Knight of the Imperial Dragon, took off running like a scared child back through the catacombs.

Alone once more, and utter silence now returning to the crypt, Valarya held her torch forward. The woman stepped through the metal gate, slowly making her way through the tunnel ahead of her.

When Valarya entered the main burial chamber of the Drethen mausoleum, she stood there silently, as still as stone for several moments. A strange, morbid, but also peaceful feeling of awe swelled inside her as she gazed all around the massive, dome-shaped chamber. An elaborate network of stairs and stone walkways and ledges connected the entire room together, and as far up as Valarya could see and even beyond, countless tombs lined every inch of the stone walls, housing the most esteemed members of the Drethen family.

Lady Drethen walked slowly through the enormous chamber. Not a sound could be heard, save for her own echoing footsteps as her shoes hit the ceramic flooring. Valarya's attention was drawn to the marble statue that stood ahead of her. She eyed the statue keenly, as if she were utterly transfixed by it. And in that moment, as the statue seemingly stared straight back at her, Valarya couldn't help but suddenly feel small, tiny, and insignificant. Up there on the surface, she was Lady Valarya Drethen, one of the richest, and most powerful women in Morrowind. She commanded the respect of Morrowind's greatest elite, and her influence stretched across the entire country.

But down here, standing now in the presence of the dead, she was nothing. No one. Thousands just like her had lived long before she was ever born, and thousands would live long after she was gone. Valarya realized then just how fleeting, how delicate life truly was. She realized how meaningless her own existence was, in the grand scheme of things.

She continued through the burial chamber, now making her way up the stone stairways. She traveled up no short distance, and after a few minutes she found herself looking far down below her. Valarya continued to explore the vast chamber, enjoying the peace and silence.

Lady Drethen stopped suddenly, when she came to an unoccupied alcove in the wall. Examining it with a curious gaze, she reached her hand inside, gently feeling the ancient stone with her fingers. She had never noticed this before, and more and more was she finding herself strangely drawn to it.

Her stomach throbbed again, and she sat down right against the empty burial space as she struggled to catch her breath. That summoning spell had drained Valarya considerably, and she was now feeling the fatiguing effects born from conjuring such magic.

It wasn't until right now that Valarya realized how cold she was. She felt like she might have been sick again, but the feeling soon passed. The Dunmer woman had always prided herself on her courage, her fortitude, and her inner strength. But in that moment, as she sat there utterly alone, shivering in the giant tomb, with only the whispers of the dead to serve as her company, Valarya wanted nothing more than for her husband to be there with her right now. To hold her, to comfort her, to embrace her, to make her feel safe, warm, and protected.

The Dunmer grunted and winced, the pain now traveling to her back. She found herself with the urge to cry, but was able to resist.

The pain eventually alleviated once more. Valarya Drethen smiled, looking down as she gently placed her hand on her stomach…lovingly massaging the life that was growing inside her.

She closed her eyes.

"Easy, my sweet child."


	9. New Arrivals

Dusk swept across the vast fields of the Drethen plantation, darkness creeping into the sky above as the sun descended to the west behind distant clouds. A cool, refreshing nightly breeze began to sail throughout the far reaches of the plantation grounds, gradually replacing the searing summer heat that had pervaded the air all day long.

K'Jhari wiped the sweat from his brow, taking but a brief moment to glance upon the darkening sky. He eagerly welcomed the much needed respite from the hot weather, shutting his eyes for several seconds as the gentle wind tickled his fur. As a Khajiit, a feeling of peace and serenity always filled K'Jhari whenever he laid eyes upon the glowing moons in the night sky. And so was the case this evening, the young Khajiit smiling to himself as he caught the first glimmers of pale moonlight slowly revealing itself on the dark horizon.

"Khajiit never thought he would be happy to be working in a field again," K'Jhari muttered, resuming his work that moment.

"I hear you, my friend," spoke Treads-Marshes, who was working only a couple feet beside him. The Khajiit and Argonian dragged their rakes through the dirt, smoothening the soil. A new batch of crops were designated to be planted in that spot, and so K'Jhari, Marsh, and roughly a dozen additional slaves had been tasked with tilling and ploughing the soil in preparation before the crops would actually be planted. This task had taken up the entire afternoon, the work strenuous and physically demanding as it always was, but K'Jhari almost didn't care. He would have taken this task over working in that ebony mine any day of the week. At least with this, he was once again able to enjoy the warm, fresh air.

"K'Jhari is curious as to why we were not chosen to work in the mine today," said the feline. With all the busy work going on today, this was the first chance K'Jhari and Marsh had to talk to each other all afternoon.

"So am I, but I can't say I'm about to complain," Marsh replied, wiping some sweat from his scales. "That mine was going to be the death of me. It's about time some other poor sods suffer the misery we've been forced to endure the past few weeks."

"Khajiit cannot say he disagrees," said K'Jhari. "Does Marsh find it strange that there has seemed to be less guards today?"

"Lord Alarys left for the city of Tear early this morning," Marsh answered. "Many of the plantation guards accompanied him, including Malisarr, thank the Hist."

"Ah yes, I was wondering why the fields were considerably more peaceful today," K'Jhari smiled.

"Lady Drethen has been running the plantation today in Lord Alarys's stead," said Marsh. "A day without Malisarr breathing down our necks at all hours of the day, punishing anyone at the absolute slightest whim, is a pleasant day indeed."

"K'Jhari will not argue with that, my friend," replied the Khajiit, and the two shared a friendly laugh.

The next ten or twenty minutes passed by in relative silence. Nightfall had almost completely descended upon the land, and K'Jhari knew that with that, the workday would soon be at an end.

No sooner had that thought crossed the Khajiit's mind, did the guards patrolling the fields and keeping watch over the working slaves signal the end of the day. The hundreds of slaves that comprised the Drethen plantation almost immediately ceased their work and began putting away their tools for the night, no doubt pleased to be finished another workday. Upon putting away their own tools, Marsh and K'Jhari merely watched the other slaves in silence for several minutes.

Upon the completion of every workday, all the slaves of the Drethen plantation were free to spend their remaining hours however they so wished. As long as nobody caused any sort of serious trouble or broke any of the plantation rules, the guards were lenient concerning whatever the slaves did with their free time and generally did not interfere.

Shortly after, the guards then began handing out the nightly rations from the storeroom to all the slaves of the plantation. The Khajiit and Argonian wasted no time and made their way over before they were left with the scraps.

Fortunately, Marsh and K'Jhari were the first ones at the storeroom, and they eagerly accepted their allotted portion of food and water.

"Wait, hold on," ordered the guard who gave them their food. Reaching behind the stockpile of rations, the guard took out two bottles of mead.

"Anyone asks, you didn't get these from me," said the Dunmer guard, handing them each one bottle.

"Umm, thank you," Marsh uttered, visibly surprised. K'Jhari was no less so.

 _Khajiit cannot remember the last time he tasted alcohol on his tongue_ , thought K'Jhari. They heartily accepted the drinks before continuing on their way.

"Oh by the Hist, they're even ice-cold," said a gleeful Marsh, who had wasted no time in opening his bottle. While the Argonian drank like a sailor, K'Jhari merely held the bottle against his face for several seconds, taking an elated breath as it cooled his black fur.

"What do you suppose was the reason for that guard giving us these?" K'Jhari asked.

"Who knows, and who bloody cares," Marsh answered, taking another hearty swig of his mead. "This is just what I needed." With that, K'Jhari then opened his own bottle and took a generous chug.

The vast majority of the slaves were now filing back to their shacks, no doubt most of them eager to get some much needed rest. K'Jhari and Marsh, on the other hand, decided to spend their free time outdoors, enjoying the peace and quiet of the young night. Coming to a relatively remote spot within the meadows, the Argonian and Khajiit sat down in the thick grass, watching the flickering stars while enjoying their food and drinks.

"K'Jhari! Marsh!" came Ashara's voice from the distance. Both of them smiled as the little grey Khajiit raced excitedly through the grass towards them.

"Ashara, there you are," said K'Jhari with much joy and relief, hugging his little sister warmly.

"Hi Marsh!" said Ashara, giving him a hug as well.

"Hello, little one," said the Argonian, smiling warmly at the girl.

"Hey, who are you calling little?" Ashara replied, giving Marsh a playful nudge on the shoulder.

Marsh let out a joyful laugh. "I suppose I won't be able to call you that much longer, will I?" Marsh pulled Ashara closer, giving her another long, warm embrace, almost as if she were his own family.

"You really _are_ going to be bigger than both of us someday," Marsh said, and Ashara laughed.

 _Big enough to work the fields with the rest of us_ , K'Jhari thought despondently. A depressed sigh escaping him, he took another chug of mead.

"Brother, is something the matter?" asked Ashara.

"No. It is nothing, dear child," K'Jhari muttered, forcing a smile. "Come, sweet sister. You must be hungry." Ashara made her way over, snuggling up nice and comfy against her big brother as they sat in the grass. K'Jhari handed the rest of his provided rations to his sister.

"Eat, sweet child," said K'Jhari, and his little sister gave no argument as she practically tore right into her food. K'Jhari continued enjoying his mead.

"And how was your day, Ashara?" Marsh asked.

"Not too bad," she replied. "I didn't really have to do a lot today, for the most part."

"Is that so?" Marsh said.

"A man from the Empire came to the manor today, and met with Lady Drethen," Ashara explained, still enjoying her meal. "He looked important."

"A man from the Empire, you say?" Marsh inquired, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Uh-huh," Ashara affirmed. "I don't know what they talked about."

"Why would someone from the Empire come here?" asked K'Jhari.

"I wonder the same thing, my friend," said Marsh. "The Drethens hate the Empire with a burning passion. Hist only knows what that conversation could have been about."

"You don't suppose…" K'Jhari began, a thought entering his mind just then, "you don't suppose he could have been here trying to negotiate the release of all the slaves here, do you?"

"Wishful thinking, K'Jhari, but I highly doubt that," said Marsh with a sigh. "No amount of negotiating would ever convince the Drethens to release us. I have no idea what they might have talked about, but I can't see it being anything that would benefit us."

"You're probably right, Marsh."

"The man from the Empire…" Ashara spoke again, "well, some of the guards said they saw him running through the garden, screaming and crying like a scared child. If that's true, I wonder why." K'Jhari and Marsh gave each other a puzzled look.

"Are you sure, Ashara?" Marsh asked her.

"That's just what I heard the guards say," Ashara replied. "Lady Drethen herself hasn't been seen anywhere for several hours now."

"That is…most strange," said a bemused Marsh. "What could Lady Drethen have possibly done to scare someone from the bloody _Imperial Legion_?"

"Khajiit is most curious about this as well," said K'Jhari, patting little Ashara's head as she ate. "If Lady Drethen truly was able to scare someone in the Legion, then that is most troubling indeed."

"The fact that she keeps Ashara safe from the punishment of Malisarr and his men is the only thing keeping me from despising Valarya Drethen entirely," Marsh spat.

"Lady Drethen, she…she's kind to me," muttered Ashara. "At least, most of the time, anyway."

"I know she is, sweet sister," said K'Jhari, "but you cannot let yourself develop feelings for these people."

"Your brother's right, Ashara," Marsh affirmed. "It doesn't matter how pleasant Lady Drethen may act towards you in any given moment. She is still your enemy, and not to be thought of fondly. She and her husband see the entire lot of us as nothing but mere property."

"The Drethens, and all of their ilk, see us as literal inferiors to them," continued the Argonian. "They believe it is their right to keep us as captives, to keep us chained like wild animals. To them, we are all merely expendable tools. Tools that serve one sole purpose: to make them rich, so they can subsequently expand their own power and influence. These people abuse us, mistreat us, torment us, even kill us, all without a single care in the world. To them, we are seen as lower than the very dirt they walk on. And the worst part of all this, is that this is all still completely permitted by Morrowind law."

"Everything Marsh says is the truth, dear sister," said K'Jhari.

"I…I understand, big brother," the kitten quietly answered.

"All that being said though, Ashara," said Marsh, "I don't ever want you to try and defy Lady Drethen, or stand up to her in any way. Out of all the slaves on this plantation, you by far live the most comfortable existence, and you are never to do anything that would place that in danger. Can you promise me that?"

"Yes, Marsh. I promise," she answered.

"Always remember who Lady Drethen is, Ashara," K'Jhari urged, "and always remember how she views you. She is _not_ your friend, and you are never to see her as one. Remember that she can treat you in any way she pleases, sweet sister, with absolutely no consequence to herself. Do not ever make the error of mistaking her kindness for friendship. Do you understand, Ashara?"

The Khajiit girl was visibly dismayed at K'Jhari's words, and he lovingly patted the top of her head.

"I understand, K'Jhari," she nodded, leaning comfortably against her brother.

Several moments passed by in complete silence. No sounds, save for the chirping crickets and the soft howl of the night's breeze could be heard. The sky was now all but utterly dark, the pale, translucent light of the moons shining in full splendor, completed by the glittering fields of stars. Far towards the east, a violet aurora sat draped over the horizon, and K'Jhari felt no small measure of peace and tranquility inside him as he fixated his gaze towards the majestic spectacle.

"The sky's pretty tonight, isn't it?" said Ashara.

"That it is, sweet sister," K'Jhari replied with a smile, and he pulled Ashara closer to him.

"The moons are so big," she said, mesmerized.

"Indeed they are," K'Jhari replied. "The moons are held with great reverence amongst all Khajiit. All species of Khajiit born into this world are bound to the Lunar Lattice, or the cycle of the moons, to say it simply."

"We're…bound to the moons?" inquired a curious Ashara. "What do you mean, big brother?" K'Jhari smiled at his sister's curiosity.

"You may not know this, Ashara, but there are actually several different species of Khajiit," K'Jhari explained, "and the breed of any newborn Khajiit is determined by the phase of the moons at the time of his, or her birth."

"So, the moons decide what we look like?" Ashara asked, noticeably perplexed.

"That is the basic idea, yes," answered K'Jhari with a chuckle.

"Do all species of Khajiit look the same?" asked Ashara. "How many different species of Khajiit are there?"

"It is not known for sure just how many types of Khajiit there are, Ashara," replied K'Jhari. "But no, they do not look the same. In fact, many of them are quite different from you and I, both in the way they look, and the way they act."

"And what type of Khajiit am I, K'Jhari?" Ashara inquired excitedly. "What type are you?" K'Jhari couldn't help but feel a warmness in his heart at his sister's questioning.

"My species of Khajiit is called the Suthay-raht," K'Jhari replied. "The Suthay-raht are one of the most common breeds of Khajiit in Tamriel. We are born when the moon Masser is in its new phase, and the moon Secunda is waning."

"And you, Ashara, are what is known as a Cathay-raht," K'Jhari explained. "Your species is born when the moons Masser and Secunda are both in waxing phase. Generally speaking, the Cathay-raht are larger and stronger than my breed, the Suthay-raht."

"So I really am going to be big and strong when I grow up?" asked Ashara.

"That you are, sweet sister. Even more so than I," K'Jhari answered, kissing the top of Ashara's head.

"There are many other different forms and species of Khajiit besides us," K'Jhari stated. "But there is one very unique breed of Khajiit, sweet sister, that is known as the Mane."

"The Mane? What is that?" Ashara queried.

"The Mane is the most exalted and rare breed of Khajiit in all of Elsweyr," replied K'Jhari. "Only one Mane can ever be alive at any given time, and they are only born in the extremely rare instance when Masser and Secunda are both in perfect alignment. When this happens, a third moon becomes visible in the sky."

"Brother, am I ever going to get to see our homeland of Elsweyr?" asked Ashara, still wondrously gazing into the stars.

That question stirred immense pain inside K'Jhari. He shut his eyes for several seconds, trying desperately to suppress the tear that had forced itself out.

 _Oh child, I would give anything in the world to make that so_.

"Perhaps someday, dear Ashara," answered the Khajiit, trying to sound as optimistic as possible, though he placed great doubt in his own words.

Just then, K'Jhari heard the sound of the plantation gates opening, and the three of them all looked over curiously.

"Well, it would seem Lord Drethen is back," Marsh stated, "and from what I can see, he's done some shopping." The trio stared towards the main gate that separated the plantation grounds from Drethen Manor, watching as what could only be newly purchased slaves were being marched onto the fields by the guards.

Treads-Marshes gave a glum sigh. "Poor sods, the whole lot of them," he said. "No matter what deeds anyone may commit in life, nobody deserves this fate."

The group looked on intently as the fresh arrivals were ushered inside the gate, shackled by their wrists and feet. Once all the new slaves were on the plantation grounds, their shackles were subsequently unlocked by the guards, and each of them were then outfitted with slave bracers upon their wrists, just like everybody else.

"There appears to be an interesting racial diversity amongst this batch of slaves," Marsh pointed out.

"Khajiit even sees a Dunmer in this lot," K'Jhari said.

Marsh sighed. "Looks like the Drethens will even enslave their own kinsmen, given the chance. It would seem absolutely anyone is fair game for these people."

Marsh, K'Jhari and Ashara continued to watch the new slaves earnestly as they were then led towards the slave shacks, where they would be spending every night for the rest of their lives from this point forward.

"Which of these new arrivals do you think Malisarr will break first, K'Jhari?" Marsh asked with a slight chuckle.

"It is difficult for K'Jhari to say," responded the Khajiit. "It does not matter how much spirit or strength any of these people have. Khajiit knows that cruel Malisarr will break every one of them down to complete submission."

"Only, some will take longer than others," stated Marsh, "and the more they resist Malisarr, the more they will only invoke his wrath and cruelty. Every slave here learns the rules, learns their place. Only question is, how much punishment must they endure before that fact sets in their heads?"

The trio observed the new slaves, marching forward obediently as they were filed towards their new living space. One slave, however, a young, red-haired Nord woman, suddenly broke off from the group and snuck off by herself in the opposite direction. K'Jhari and Marsh watched her with curious gazes, no one saying a word for several moments. The Nord woman eventually stopped in the middle of the field, standing by her lonesome as she appeared to gaze solemnly at the night sky.

"And just what do you suppose her story is?" K'Jhari wondered.

"That's a good question, my friend," Marsh replied.

"We should go say hi to her!" Ashara suggested excitedly.

"I think that's a great idea, Ashara," Marsh agreed with a smile. With that, the three of them stood up and began to make their way over to this newcomer to the plantation.

The Nord continued to stare silently at the stars, seemingly paying little attention to much else. The red-haired woman didn't even notice the Argonian and two Khajiit approaching her until they were practically standing next to her. Upon getting a better look at this woman, K'Jhari immediately noted her muscular physique and brawny shoulders.

"Greetings, daughter of Skyrim," Marsh addressed the Nord kindly. The Nord woman then turned to face them.

"H-Hello, Argonian," she responded, with an apprehensive smile. Her long, fiery hair blew behind her head, revealing deep hazel eyes, set upon a pretty, but stout face that bore no shortage of scars.

A mildly awkward silence hung in the air for a brief moment.

"Uh, I'm Treads-Marshes, or just Marsh," the Argonian introduced. "This is K'Jhari, and his little sister, Ashara."

"Well hello there, Ashara," the Nord kindly greeted, kneeling down to the Khajiit girl's level, giving her a warm smile. "It certainly is nice to meet you!"

"It's…it's nice to meet you too!" the kitten smiled.

"And what would your name be, Nord?" asked Marsh.

"Svigny," the woman replied. "Svigny Frost-Heart."

"A pleasure to meet you, Svigny Frost-Heart," said Marsh.

"Likewise," Svigny smiled.

"Khajiit wishes this meeting were under happier circumstances, Svigny," said K'Jhari. "You are now just one of the hundreds of captive slaves of the Drethen plantation."

"You were brought here from Tear, I presume?" Marsh inquired.

"Yes," Svigny replied with a nod of her head. "I was captured only days ago by Dunmer slavers, and I was then shipped to Tear. Your owner, Alarys Drethen, came down to where I, and the rest of these new slaves were locked up. He made an offer to the Redguard man who was holding me…and now, here I am. A new addition to this accursed plantation."

"And you've met Malisarr, I take it," said Marsh.

"Oh yes. I've already become quite acquainted with that lovely specimen," Svigny spat. "The man was leering at me practically the entire way here. He's lucky my hands were chained, or else his hideous face would look even more so right now."

"Khajiit is going to give Svigny one piece of advice," said K'Jhari. "Do not try to stand up to Malisarr. Khajiit assures you it will not end well for you."

"K'Jhari speaks the truth, my friend," Marsh affirmed. "You need only look at my back to see what happens when you anger Malisarr." The Argonian lifted his tunic, revealing the red welts that still marred his back from his punishment in the mines.

"Ysmir's beard!" Svigny exclaimed. Marsh quickly lowered his shirt again.

"Believe me when I say your time here will be substantially less unpleasant if you avoid provoking Malisarr," Marsh said. "What he did to me is nothing, compared to the punishments he's dealt in the past. I would truly hate to see you have to experience firsthand the full extent of Malisarr's cruelty." The Nord woman was silent, and for the next few minutes, none of them said a word.

Ashara finally broke the silence.

"You look strong, Svigny," she said. "Can you fight? Do you know how to use a sword? Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Ashara! Do not ask such questions, child," K'Jhari scolded his sister. Svigny merely laughed in response.

"It's quite alright, K'Jhari," she smiled. "Yes to all of your questions, little one."

"And just where did you learn to fight, Svigny?" Marsh inquired.

"I was born and raised in the city of Whiterun," Svigny responded. "My parents, Harald and Lyanna Frost-Heart, are both members of the Companions. My mother is their Harbinger, or leader. I was raised among them my entire life."

"K'Jhari has never heard of these…Companions," said the Khajiit.

"Well, to put it simply, the Companions are a band of warriors," Svigny explained. "Our home is within the grand mead hall of Jorrvaskr, in Whiterun. We work to defend the people of Skyrim, if they have the gold to pay. Whether it be eliminating a group of troublesome bandits, slaying giants and monsters, or even just taking care of a pack of wolves, the Companions work to bring honor and glory to our fellow Shield-Brothers and Sisters. Every Companion strives to be heroic and brave, to have their accomplishments and deeds reminisced through stories, and sung with pride throughout every tavern across the land."

"Hmph, they sound like a glorified Fighters Guild," replied Marsh, with a hint of cynicism.

"Perhaps," Svigny replied. "But nonetheless, I was raised among them, and I consider each and every one of them my family. They taught me how to fight, and they taught me how to live my life with honor and integrity, as befits a Nord of Skyrim."

"Well, perhaps Svigny could ask her dear Companions to come here and free us?" asked K'Jhari. "Or would they refuse, because we are worthless slaves with no money?"

"Look, I don't need this attitude, from either of you," Svigny shot back, glaring at the two. "It's bad enough that I've spent the last several days caged like some feral beast. I do not need to stand here and listen to you two mock and insult my family."

"You're right, Svigny, we're sorry," said Marsh, amicably. "You just need to understand, the three of us have spent a long time on this plantation. All your talk of 'honor and integrity' merely rubbed us the wrong way. You will soon come to find that both of those things are in criminally short supply here, as we have. Please don't mistake our skepticism for contempt." Svigny closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she pulled herself together.

"I understand, Marsh," the woman replied with a friendly smile. "I do appreciate your kindness, all of you. It means a great deal to me."

"You're a long ways from Whiterun, Svigny," Marsh pointed out. "Is it safe to assume you left the Companions?"

"I did, though it was always my intention to return," she replied. "I adored growing up in Whiterun, and being raised in the Companions was an honor. But, being a young woman of twenty-four, I desired to leave the safety of my nest, and see the world. I journeyed all across my homeland of Skyrim, and I soon became a sellsword. Eventually my path came here, to Morrowind."

"Had I have known I was going to end up here, I would've stayed in Whiterun," said Svigny, letting out a despondent sigh.

"Khajiit is sorry you have ended up here, Svigny," K'Jhari consoled the Nord. "Someone like you does not deserve to be a slave here."

"Thank you, K'Jhari," the Nord smiled. "Funnily enough, when I was captured by the slavers, I was escorting a Khajiit caravan through Morrowind, on their way back to Skyrim. Half of the slavers perished by my sword, but I was soon overpowered, and forced to surrender. I suspected they would just kill me, to be honest. I never counted on them capturing me."

"Your skills with a blade are impressive, Svigny," Marsh complimented. "Singlehandedly taking out that many opponents is no small feat."

"Every member of the Companions is put through a rigorous training regimen, from the day they are taken into the order as a whelp," Svigny explained. "Every day, without exception, we are trained for several hours a day, honing our skills in combat, and becoming proficient with every type of weapon there is. Our training is far from easy, but I am immensely grateful for it, for it has helped shape me into who I am today."

"Actually, speaking of training," Marsh said, "years ago, K'Jhari and I fashioned some wooden practice swords from some sturdy branches we found. We spar with them fairly often. The spot where we practice is by the perimeter of the plantation, out of sight from the guards."

"Interesting," said Svigny. "Are either of you skilled in the art of combat?"

"I taught myself how to wield a blade, during my younger days as a thief," Marsh replied. "For many years, I've been showing K'Jhari what I know. I must admit, it's been good for me too. Keeps me from getting rusty."

"Khajiit is not the most skilled with the sword," said K'Jhari, "but my pa did teach me how to shoot a bow and arrow, many years ago. That is what K'Jhari prefers to use."

"Hmm, very intriguing," said Svigny. "And is there any chance either of you might be up for a little…late-night sparring session?" K'Jhari and Marsh briefly glanced at one another.

"It would be my pleasure to spar with you, Svigny," Marsh accepted. "Facing a Nord of Skyrim will certainly prove interesting."

Svigny smiled. "And what about you, K'Jhari?"

"Khajiit would be no match for Svigny," K'Jhari said, his voice quiet. "He is not strong like she is."

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself, K'Jhari," encouraged Marsh. "I've taught you a lot over the years. You've made impressive progress during that time. You should carry more faith in yourself, my friend."

"Marsh is right, K'Jhari," said Svigny. "Besides, sparring isn't about winning. It's about perfecting your strengths, and improving on your weaknesses. It should be treated as an opportunity to push your own limits, to learn more about yourself, and to go beyond what you initially think yourself capable of."

"Come on, brother. You can take her!" Ashara encouraged, giving him a light nudge with her elbow.

"You see? Your sister has the right attitude!" Svigny replied. K'Jhari smiled at Ashara, giving her a gentle pat on her head.

"Very well. Khajiit will practice with you, Svigny," said K'Jhari after a moment. The Nord woman smiled.

"That's the spirit, my friend," she said. "I'll be happy to teach you what I can, K'Jhari, with the time that we have."

"K'Jhari would appreciate that very much," said the Khajiit.

"We keep our practice swords hidden beneath some bushes at the far edge of the plantation," said Marsh. "I'll take you to where we practice, Svigny."

"Lead the way, my friend," said the Nord.

"Can you give me a piggyback ride, Svigny?" asked Ashara with excitement. Svigny was clearly not expecting that, but a wide smile soon crossed her face.

"Come on up, little one," she gestured, dropping to one knee. The Khajiit girl raced over, carefully climbing onto Svigny's shoulders.

"Careful, she's heavier than she looks," Marsh said with a laugh. "If she gets to be too much, just let me know."

"I don't think she'll be a problem," Svigny cheerfully replied. She stood back up then, with Ashara holding on nice and tight. "You ready up there, Ashara?"

"Uh-huh," she answered, and with that, the four of them set off through the fields and meadows with Marsh leading the way.

The group remained silent as they strode through the expansive fields of the Drethen plantation. K'Jhari couldn't help but smile as he watched Ashara perched comfortably atop Svigny's shoulders, gazing all across the fields in wonder like a hawk in a tree.

 _This is the happiest I've seen Ashara in far too long_ , thought K'Jhari, his heart swelling with comfort and joy. At the end of it all, to K'Jhari, this was far from his worst day on the plantation. He was happy that he, Ashara and Marsh had made a new friend today. Svigny Frost-Heart was more than a welcome addition to their group, and it filled the young Khajiit with much happiness to see her and his sister getting along so wonderfully.

K'Jhari looked up to the starlit sky as they continued through the pastures, no sounds audible save for the faint whisper of the sailing wind. The Khajiit smiled gleefully to himself as his gaze was once more drawn to the moons, shining in their full, splendid glory amidst the stars. None too often was it that K'Jhari's mind was clear and unclouded from the burdens of stress and worry, and it was the young Khajiit's intent to fully relish every second of this peaceful moment, however long it was to last.


	10. A Treasonous Plot

"Absolutely not!" barked Alarys Drethen with a sharp, booming voice. "Loan money to the Empire?! Have you lost your damned mind, woman?!"

Lady Valarya stood by the window, watching in silence as her husband paced back and forth across the bedroom. Glass of wine in hand, she took a long, drawn out sip in an attempt to calm herself as she gracefully withstood Alarys's temper.

"Alarys, would you just calm down and listen to me for one moment?" Valarya pleaded, trying her best to remain calm and collected so as to hopefully curb her husband's anger. "There's an opportunity for you and I to profit from this, Alarys, if you can put aside your disdain for the Empire momentarily."

"You know, sometimes I think that wine goes straight to your head, Valarya," Alarys retorted, pointing a finger at his wife. "Where on Nirn did you ever get such a ludicrous, asinine notion?!"

"Vicentus Antorius came to the manor today," Valarya replied. "We discussed a few things, and he-"

"Vicentus Antorius?!" Alarys exclaimed, his rage burning even more fiercely as a deep scowl crossed his face. "You let that fetcher into my house?! _My. House?_!" Valarya hung her head, her whole body trembling. With a shaking hand, Valarya took another sip of her wine, looking down at her feet as she bore the brunt of her husband's wrath.

"I leave you to run the plantation for _one_ day while I'm gone," spat Alarys, "and you allow that Imperial dog to saunter into my home like he owns the damn place."

"Yes, because unlike you, I understand the importance of being cordial and gracious with people of significance, no matter how much I may dislike them," Valarya shot back in self-defense. "I acted precisely how a good host is expected to act towards their guest. I offered him wine, I showed him around the manor and the gardens, I ensured all his needs were met and that he was comfortable. Is that truly such a crime, husband?" Alarys snorted in contempt at his wife's words.

"Did you _bed_ the man as well?" he brashly remarked.

Valarya Drethen slammed her wine glass onto the nearby table, storming over to where her husband stood.

"What. Did you. Just. Say?" Lady Drethen's eyes narrowed as she glowered at her husband, burning like the fires of Red Mountain itself. Even the ever stoic Alarys quivered faintly at his wife's livid, incensed glare.

"Valarya, I-"

"How dare you…" Valarya's quavering voice was naught but a whisper, but that did nothing to mask the hurt and anger that coated her words.

"For centuries, I have been the most loyal, devoted wife I could possibly be to you," Valarya asserted. "For centuries, I have diligently stood by you, supported you, and helped you whenever you needed it. Not once did I ever protest, or argue. All these years, I have unfailingly served this plantation, served this family, with every ounce of my being. And now…you possess the _nerve_ to speak to me like I'm some harlot?!" Lady Drethen's voice raised then, several tears beginning to flow from her eyes.

"I had no idea you thought so lowly of me, Alarys," Valarya sobbed, bringing her face into her hands.

"Oh by Azura, it was a bloody _joke_ , Valarya!" Alarys crossly retorted.

"I gave you a son, Alarys!" Valarya cried, her ire now on full display. "Since the day we were wed, I have strived to be nothing but the best wife to you I could be. Every waking second of every day, I have devoted my entire life to you, and to Serys. Every day, I pour my heart and soul into this family, acting only in its best interests, and now you stand here and utterly disrespect and degrade me! Do I truly mean that little to you, Alarys?"

 _Well, looks like it's the couch for me tonight_ , Lord Drethen mused to himself. Any anger Alarys may have held had now vanished entirely, melted away like snow. As he stood there, silently watching his crying wife, his rage very quickly gave way to remorse and shame. Alarys had made that remark to her purely off the cuff, driven by his intense aggravation. He didn't mean for his words to cut Valarya as deeply as they did.

"I'm sorry, my love," said Alarys after a moment of tense silence, trying to sound as apologetic as he could. "I shouldn't have said that." Valarya looked at him, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Do you know what hurts me the most, Alarys?" Lady Drethen wept. "The way you so openly deride our son right in front of me, without a single thought as to how it might make me feel. You ruthlessly disparaged him when Orvas Dren was here for dinner, Alarys, and you did not so much as glance at me to gauge my reaction. I held my tongue, Alarys, but I want you to know right now how deeply that hurt me." Valarya continued to weep. Alarys shut his eyes, letting out a long, exasperated sigh.

"Serys joined the Imperial Legion to spite me, Valarya," Lord Drethen replied, his voice now quiet, almost melancholic, "I know he did." Valarya looked into her husband's eyes, placing a gentle hand on his cheek.

"Does that truly matter, Alarys?" she asked softly. "Children act in ways to spite their parents all the time, when they are young. Serys is our son, Alarys. We may not approve of his choice to join the Legion, but we are still his parents, and as such, it is on us to place Serys's happiness before our own feelings. You cannot spend the rest of your life being angry at him." A brief, gloomy silence lingered between the Drethens.

"Serys loves you, Alarys," said Valarya. "And you love him. I know you do." Alarys gazed into his wife's still tear-filled eyes, running a hand through her hair. He slowly pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her in a loving embrace, which she reciprocated.

"Forgive me, Valarya," said Alarys, giving her a kiss. "It was never my intent to hurt you, my love. I should not have said what I did. And…perhaps I have been overly harsh on Serys."

"It's just…I was hurt that day, when Serys told us he was enlisting in the Legion," Alarys said solemnly. "I…I felt like my own son was betraying me. I've carried that resentment with me ever since that day, and I suppose I neglected to contemplate how that was affecting you. I am sorry, my love." Lady Drethen gave her husband a faint smile, and they shared a passionate kiss as they lovingly held one another close.

"I spoke with Grandmaster Seralas today, when I was at Tear," said Alarys.

"How _is_ Gelthryn?" asked Valarya, her expression one of concern.

"He is not well, Valarya," Alarys answered glumly. "Last time I saw Gelthryn Seralas, he was sick, but still had the use of his legs. Now, he's confined to a wheelchair. The old man will be lucky if he's got a year left in him."

"I am so sorry to hear that, my love," Valarya consoled. "I know how much Gelthryn means to you."

"Gelthryn and my father were close as kin since before I was even born," said Alarys. "Indeed, I very well consider Gelthryn to be almost a second father to me. House Dres has prospered greatly during his tenure as Grandmaster, and it truly broke my heart to see him so weak and frail today."

"What did the two of you discuss?" Valarya inquired. "Anything important?"

"We did, as a matter of fact," Alarys answered.

"Well please, do tell," urged Valarya. Alarys looked at his wife, taking a moment to clear his throat.

"As of today," began Alarys, pausing briefly, "due to his increasingly deteriorating health, Gelthryn Seralas has officially stepped down as Grandmaster of Great House Dres." Valarya gasped in shock.

"Gelthryn has stepped down?!" she exclaimed, putting a hand over her mouth. Her husband nodded his head.

"He stated to me his intent to live out the days that remain to him in peace, free from the bickering and squabbling that comes with that life," said Alarys. "To be honest, I don't think I've ever seen the man so relieved."

"So, if Gelthryn has stepped down, then what does that mean for House Dres?" Valarya queried. Alarys was silent for a moment, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Valarya, my beloved wife," Lord Alarys Drethen began, taking her hand, "you now stand before the new Grandmaster of House Dres." Lady Valarya gave a gasp of astonishment at her husband's announcement.

"Gelthryn proclaimed his final act during our meeting, naming me his successor," Alarys declared. A brief silence followed.

"Alarys, that's…that's wonderful!" an amazed Valarya joyfully replied, hugging her husband tightly. "You have my most sincere congratulations, my love." The Drethens shared another kiss, and even Alarys managed to allow a smile to cross his face that moment.

"This is still just between Gelthryn and I for now," stated Alarys, "but the full council is set to gather at Tear in a fortnight, where my succession will be formally announced. But, for all intents and purposes, as of today, I am now Alarys Drethen, Grandmaster of Great House Dres, and Lord of Tear."

"This is certainly quite unexpected, but also quite welcome news," Lady Drethen said with an elated smile. "You deserve this, my love."

"To be entirely honest, I'm not sure how I feel about taking Gelthryn's place," confided Alarys, with clear doubt in his voice. "I can't even begin to imagine how I will measure up against him." Valarya placed a hand on her husband's face, turning his head so that he was looking into her eyes.

"That is an entirely normal thing to feel, Alarys," she said, encouragingly. "You've just been made the head of a Great House, my love. This is no small undertaking for you, I know, and I imagine you probably feel overwhelmed, and doubtful in your own abilities."

"But do you truly think Gelthryn would have named you his successor, if he did not feel you were capable of that responsibility?" enquired Valarya. "The old man is no fool, Alarys. Gelthryn Seralas chose you, because he has full confidence in you. And that same confidence is shared by me, my love. I know there is no one more suited to the job than you, Alarys. You will lead House Dres to greatness, just as Gelthryn did."

"I suppose you're right," said Alarys. "But this is still going to take some getting used to, being the leader of House Dres." Lady Drethen smiled at her husband, giving him another kiss.

"So, _Grandmaster_ Drethen, just what do you plan to do with your newfound power and authority?" asked a curious Valarya.

"Interesting you should ask, dear wife," Lord Drethen replied, stroking her hair.

"Well, don't leave me in suspense now," said Valarya.

"This may come as a surprise to you, Valarya, but that night Orvas Dren was here, we didn't spend the whole time merely getting drunk off our rumps," said Alarys.

"That is a surprise, actually," Valarya replied.

"Orvas and I spoke extensively of the future of this great land of Morrowind," Alarys proclaimed. "And we have begun to formulate a plan, that we soon hope to witness come to fruition."

"I seem to recall Orvas making a cursory mention of having his brother dealt with when he had dinner with us," said Valarya. "Would this plan of yours be in relation to that?"

"It would," Alarys affirmed.

"So you are conspiring with Orvas Dren to help murder his elder brother?" probed Valarya. "A man you grew up with? A man you considered a close friend for many years?"

"There was indeed a time, long ago, that I looked up to Vedam Dren as my own older brother," stated Alarys. "But, those days have long passed. Vedam revealed his true colors when he threw in with the Empire, and he no longer means a damn thing to me now."

"I'm not sure I'm understanding this, Alarys," said Valarya. "Say for a minute that your little plot succeeds, and Vedam Dren is taken out. What exactly does this accomplish, my love?"

"This 'little plot' goes far beyond Vedam Dren, my dear wife," Alarys responded. "Getting rid of Vedam is merely the first step in our plan. A plan that, if successful, will not only see the overthrow of King Hlaalu Helseth from his cozy throne in Mournhold, but will also see the complete and utter removal of the Empire from Morrowind, once and for all." Lady Drethen raised an eyebrow, giving her husband a most curious, intrigued gaze.

"Look at you, my dear husband," she said with an amused smile. "You have not been Grandmaster for even a day, and yet here you are, already hatching conspiracies and plots, despite your perpetual scorn for such matters."

"The humor is not lost on me," said Lord Drethen.

"I'm intrigued thus far, Alarys. But how exactly does killing Vedam get rid of the Empire?" Alarys looked at his wife, watching as she crossed her arms.

"Vedam Dren has no sons, Valarya," the Dunmer explained. "As his younger brother, Orvas is Vedam's closest male relative. If some…tragic accident, were to befall Vedam and claim his life, then what would that mean for Orvas?"

"Orvas would…become Duke of Vvardenfell, as well as the head of House Hlaalu," Valarya replied.

"And who has been, without a doubt, the Empire's firmest supporters all these years?" Alarys queried. Valarya's mouth hung open just then as the realization dawned upon her.

 _Now you understand_ , thought Alarys with a grin.

"With House Hlaalu completely under his control, Orvas would have the power to cripple the Empire's occupation of Vvardenfell," said Valarya.

"And I have just been made the head of House Dres," said Alarys. "As Grandmaster, I plan to commit the Dres armies and resources to aiding Orvas in liberating Vvardenfell from the Imperial menace. If what you have told me is true, and the Legion is struggling to even pay its own soldiers and maintain its holdings, then they are as weak as they're ever going to be, Valarya."

"The Empire is dying, my dear wife," Alarys asserted. "And what do you do when you come across a dying animal? You cut its throat, and put it out of its misery. The time to strike against the Empire is now. Thousands across this land share our sentiment, Valarya. When we mount our insurgency against the Imperials, I predict it will not be long before those who would see Morrowind a free nation begin to flock to our cause."

"I must say, dear husband, you and Orvas have put much thought into this," admitted Valarya. "If the Imperials lose Vvardenfell, their grip on Morrowind will be weakened substantially. At that point, I would presume you will turn your sights to the mainland?"

"If we're lucky, perhaps even the other Great Houses will throw in with us," said Alarys.

Lady Drethen gave a smile. "House Indoril despises the Empire more than anyone else in Morrowind," she stated. "And fortunately for us, with me having been born into the House, as well as serving as a representative for them on the Grand Council for many years, I hold no small influence within their hierarchy. House Indoril has vociferously resisted Imperial rule right from the start, and have longed for the opportunity to cast them out of this land and regain the power they have lost. With one letter from me, they'll back us in a heartbeat, I know they will."

"House Indoril still commands a respectable force," said Alarys. "Having them on our side would prove invaluable to our cause."

"I am no stranger to plots and conspiracies," said Valarya, with a grin, "but _treason_ …well, that's a new one."

"We cannot get ahead of ourselves though, Alarys," Valarya warned. "This entire thing seems to hinge upon the assassination of Vedam Dren. Has Orvas given you his assurances that this can be done?"

"Several of his agents are in place at Castle Ebonheart, and they surround the Duke day and night," Alarys asserted. "They relay information to Orvas about his brother by the day, and Orvas has assured me they will strike when the timing is right. If all goes according to plan, Vedam's death will be ruled an accident, and no one will ever suspect foul play."

"I suppose I can be satisfied enough with that," Lady Drethen replied, with seemingly no objections.

"So, let's assume for a moment this grand scheme works out perfectly at every turn," Valarya postulated. "And let us also assume that the Imperial Legion is soundly defeated and cast from Morrowind, and King Helseth is successfully deposed. What then, exactly? Surely this plan you and Orvas have concocted does not end here?"

"Indeed it doesn't," replied Alarys. "Orvas and I spoke at length about this as well, and we were able to reach an agreement about what is to be done afterwards."

"With Helseth and the Imperials gone, you would see the governance of Morrowind return solely to the five Great Houses?" Valarya deduced.

"That was our original idea, yes," answered Alarys. "After all, the whole institution of a monarchy in Morrowind was one of the Empire's terms of the Armistice, and it is little secret that whomever sits the throne of Mournhold is little more than a figurehead that merely bows to the Empire's every wish."

"Are you saying you would preserve the monarchy?" inquired Valarya.

"Valarya, think about it for a moment," said Alarys. "For as long as our people have inhabited this land, all the way back to the days of Nerevar, the Great Houses have shared lordship over Morrowind. And during those millennia, all the Houses have ever done is bicker, squabble, argue, and backstab each other almost ceaselessly."

"You certainly aren't wrong there," Valarya concurred. "Sometimes, I am amazed the Great Houses can even agree on what color the sky is."

"Thousands of years of petty feuds, trivial disputes, and borderline pointless infighting and scheming," spat Alarys. "And when Tiber Septim and his newfound Empire came knocking at our door, his forces amassing at our borders…just what happened, Valarya?" Lady Drethen stood silent, but her expression made clear she was deeply pondering Alarys's words.

"The Houses could not even stand together to mount a proper resistance against Septim's forces," Valarya answered. "And thus, with the Armistice, signed by Emperor Tiber Septim and Vivec, Morrowind was assimilated into the Empire." Alarys nodded his head.

"Morrowind was assimilated into the Empire," he repeated.

"If this plot you and Orvas have hatched succeeds, and all that you hope for comes true, and Morrowind officially secedes from the Septim Empire, I fully suspect Cyrodiil will not simply take it sitting down," said Valarya.

"Oh I agree completely," Alarys replied. "Should Morrowind achieve independence, and the Dunmer people regain their rightful freedoms, there is no doubt in my mind the Empire would invade again."

"And that is precisely why Morrowind needs to continue to have a centralized ruler in Mournhold," stated Alarys. "Only, not a puppet figurehead chosen by the Empire. But a _true_ ruler. A ruler chosen by the Dunmer people of Morrowind themselves. A ruler who will work tirelessly to undo everything the Empire has done to this nation these last four centuries, and restore this land to the forgotten glory days of Resdayn. A ruler who commands respect amongst the nobles of Morrowind, and will at long last end the perpetual rift between the five Houses."

"Should Morrowind split from the Empire, and if we the Dunmer are to entertain any thoughts of protecting that independence," continued Alarys, "the Houses will need to stand as one, lest we simply suffer a repeat of Tiber Septim's invasion." Alarys gazed keenly at his wife as he finished speaking, and she fortunately seemed to give no sign of disagreement with his assertion.

"You know, with the impressive amount of thought and planning you and Orvas have put into this, I almost wonder if the two of you were stone-cold sober the entire night," quipped Valarya. In an exceptionally rare moment, Lord Alarys burst into laughter at that, and his wife giggled along with him.

"So, with that said, is it safe to assume you and Orvas have a particular candidate in mind to replace Helseth, should this whole thing work?" inquired Lady Drethen.

"Indeed we do," confirmed Alarys.

"Hmm, and just who would that be, dear husband?" Valarya probed. "You?"

"By Azura, no," Lord Drethen scoffed. "Even if I _wanted_ the throne, I could never garner the required support for it."

"Gods, _please_ tell me not Orvas Dren," Valarya nearly begged.

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Alarys retorted.

"Well I must say, Alarys, you have me quite curious now," said Valarya. "If not you, and not Orvas Dren, then just who exactly would you see ascend to the throne should this plan succeed? Just who is this 'true ruler' you speak of, who will supposedly unite the Houses, and replace Hlaalu Helseth as King of Morrowind?"

Lord Alarys Drethen gave no answer, and was silent for several moments, taking a deep breath as neither of them spoke a word. The new Dres Grandmaster turned to face his wife, slowly walking towards her. He took her hands, gently holding them inside his own as he gazed into her deep red eyes.

"Umm, Alarys…?" Valarya's eyebrow nearly rose straight off her head. Her husband gave her a sly smile.

"I never said it would be a _king_ , Valarya."

Valarya Drethen's eyes grew so wide, they looked as if they would burst from her head.

"You can't…you can't be serious…" she whispered in disbelief. Alarys said nothing, still staring into his wife's bewildered eyes.

"This whole scheme you and Orvas have hatched…this is all to put _me_ on the throne?" Lady Drethen queried, in complete shock and bemusement. "You want _me_ to rule Morrowind? What on Nirn makes you think…" Valarya's voice trailed off as she became visibly overwhelmed, her eyes darting in a hundred different directions.

"I've never known you as a woman to doubt herself, Valarya," stated Alarys, stroking his wife's hair. "If I recall correctly, it was only minutes ago that you expressed your confidence in me when I doubted myself. What happened to that attitude?"

"This…this is completely different, Alarys!" exclaimed Valarya.

"Is it truly?" he asked her.

"Alarys, what in Oblivion makes you think I could be Queen of Morrowind?" Valarya queried with a trembled voice.

"What makes you think you _couldn't_ , Valarya?" Alarys replied.

"Alarys, I…I don't..." Words failed Lady Valarya that moment, and she had to take a seat on the bed as she tried to collect herself.

"Politics has always been your game, Valarya," said Alarys. "Do you not want to be queen?" Valarya looked over to her husband, still utterly taken aback, her eyes swelling with uncertainty.

"I would love nothing more in this world, my love," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just…I didn't think it could ever be possible. This is so much for me to take in."

"Valarya, there is nobody within the entirety of this great land more suited to hold Morrowind's highest office than you," stated Alarys. His wife merely gazed at him in silence as he spoke, still trying to compose herself.

"For as long as the Great Houses have existed, they have fought each other, hated each other, and vied for political dominance over one another for countless centuries," Lord Drethen proclaimed, "but in spite of all that…you, my beloved wife, you manage to command the respect of all five Houses. Your shrewd mind and keen political savvy has allowed your influence to extend beyond just your own House Indoril. You are held in high esteem amongst Morrowind's nobility, and many of this land's most prominent individuals heed your counsel."

Lady Drethen stood up again once she was finally able to calm herself down. Walking over to her husband, she gently took hold of his hand, looking intently into his eyes. Lord Alarys touched her cheek and gave her a light kiss.

"You truly think I could make a bid for the throne, my love?" Valarya's voice still betrayed her uncertainty, but Alarys held every hope she would take to the idea.

"You, perhaps more than any Dunmer in this land, have the potential to unify the five Great Houses, and put an end to this perpetual schism that has divided us since the founding of Resdayn," Alarys asserted with absolute confidence. "You have the influence, and the political sway, Valarya, to bring the Great Houses to your cause. Redoran, Telvanni, Dres, Indoril, Hlaalu. Five Houses, united under _one_ purpose, joined together into _one_ army, standing behind _one_ queen. With all the Great Houses at your back, I have not a shadow of a doubt you can not only challenge Helseth, but also rid Morrowind of this dying Imperial Legion, and at last restore our ancient freedoms that were robbed from us four hundred years ago."

"You make this all sound as simple as throwing a ball, Alarys," replied Valarya. "The Great Houses of Morrowind are nothing if not stubborn. It is true I have political pull within the Houses, some more than others, but that does not mean they would necessarily support me as their queen."

"I never said it would be easy, Valarya," Alarys replied in agreement. "If usurping a nation's monarchy was such a mundane undertaking, no ruler would last beyond a fortnight. But you certainly stand a better chance than most, my dear wife."

"Well, you are now the Grandmaster of House Dres, and control of House Hlaalu will soon pass to Orvas Dren once his brother is dealt with, so I presume I already have two of the Great Houses on my side," said Valarya.

"You'd best believe I will gladly give the life of every single Dres soldier if it means putting your ass in that throne, Valarya," Alarys asserted. "And Orvas Dren has not forgotten the favor you did for him, getting his shipment out of the East Empire Company's hands. He is only eager to return that favor to you. Once House Hlaalu, as well as Vvardenfell are under his control, you can consider him an ally."

"Certainly not a bad start," commented Valarya, "though that still leaves the other three Houses. You know, the more I ponder this whole thing, the more plausible its success becomes to me."

"I would never propose this to you were I not completely certain it could work," said Alarys. "The Legion in Morrowind is weak, its strength and influence wanes by the day. We may never receive a more ripe opportunity to overthrow the Imperials than we have now. Reach out to the Great Houses, Valarya. Win their support and loyalty, and join them to our cause. With their armies at your back, you will have the strength to take the fight to the Empire. You can cast them out of Morrowind at long last, and throw Hlaalu Helseth to the gutter where he belongs. The Empire's days in Morrowind are numbered. After several centuries under their rule, we now have the means to throw them out of this land forever, and reestablish Morrowind as an independent sovereignty."

"And you, my dear wife," said Alarys, "you will be at the helm of it all."

Silence lingered in the master bedroom for several moments, neither Drethen uttering a word. Alarys gazed keenly at his wife, her facial expression making it clear she was ruminating this grand scheme he had laid before her. A wide smile crossed Lady Drethen's face.

"Queen. Valarya. Drethen…" she spoke slowly, the words rolling eloquently off her tongue. "Has a nice ring to it, I must admit."

"With the five Great Houses sworn to you, the throne of Morrowind will be yours for the taking, my love," stated Alarys, taking her hand in his, "and once you take it, you will rule with absolute authority. You will not be a measly figurehead. You will not be a puppet. You will not be a vassal to a foreign Emperor who lives in some tower a thousand miles away. You will be a _Queen_ , Valarya."

"So, what say you?" asked Lord Drethen. A confident smile swept across Valarya's face then, and she gave her a husband another long kiss.

"We have work to do, my love," she simply said. Alarys gave a sly grin.

"That's the Valarya Drethen I know," he remarked.

Just then, Lady Drethen gave a sudden, brief cry of pain, clenching her stomach. She stumbled forward, and would've fallen over had her husband not been there to catch her.

"Valarya?! Are you alright?" Alarys panicked, holding his trembling wife in his arms as she leaned right into him for support.

"Yes, I…I'm fine, my love," she answered with a pained wince.

"Valarya, what's wrong?" Alarys asked with great concern. He gently stroked his wife's hair as she steadied herself again.

"Alarys…there's something I must tell you, my love," she whispered. "Something wonderful."

"What is it, Valarya?" Lord Drethen inquired.

Valarya did not give her answer with words. She grabbed Alarys's right hand, placing it gently on her stomach. The brightest, most heartfelt smile Alarys had ever seen swept across his wife's face that moment.

Alarys's heart skipped a beat when the realization dawned on him.

"Valarya, are you…?"

"Yes, Alarys," she answered softly, her eyes filling with tears of joy. "I am with child."

Lord Alarys Drethen did not know what to feel when he heard those words. The man stood in perplexed silence, his eyes widened as he felt his heart begin to race, his gaze zipping in every which direction. His thoughts began to scramble uncontrollably into a swirling mess within his mind. Valarya looked at him with what appeared to be an anxious, uneasy expression, perhaps suddenly fearing her husband's reaction.

"We're…we're going to have another baby?" Alarys finally managed to speak once he collected himself. "You…you're sure?"

"Yes, my love," Lady Drethen smiled, tears still flowing from her eyes. "Our physicians confirmed it when they examined me only last week. I was also able to get a brief glimpse of the baby with a life detection spell." Valarya took her husband's hands inside of hers.

"Alarys," she spoke softly, smiling, "we're going to have a girl!"

Lord Drethen was silent once more, his mind continuing to race wildly as he tried to muster just the right words to say. Valarya gazed at him with tearful eyes, still holding her husband's hands within her own. After another moment of silence, much to Lady Drethen's joy and relief, a smile then crossed Alarys's face, and this was perhaps the most genuine, warm, and affectionate smile she had ever seen him give.

"A girl?" Alarys whispered, now allowing himself to express the newfound joy inside him. His voice made it obvious he was still dazzled at this revelation. "We're really going to have a baby girl?"

"Does this…does this please you, Alarys?" Valarya asked, putting a hand to her husband's cheek.

Lord Alarys said not another word. He pulled his wife up against him, holding her firmly in his hands as he kissed her fiercely. Valarya pressed herself into him, wrapping her arms around him as if it were her intent to never let go.

Alarys scooped his wife right off her feet and into his arms then, with Valarya letting out a giggle as she was lifted off the floor. Continuing to kiss her with burning passion, Alarys carried her over to their bed and gently laid her on her back.

Not wasting a single second, Alarys was soon on top of her, and Valarya pulled him closer to her as they continued to make love. Alarys took hold of his wife's arms, pinning them above her head, and Valarya gave a pleasured moan when her husband began kissing all up and down her body. Valarya ran a hand through her husband's shoulder-length hair.

"Alarys…" she whispered softly, completely and utterly surrendering herself to the moment as her husband kissed and felt every inch of her. Alarys himself felt as if he were centuries younger then, a fiery, intense vigor burning inside of him.

"All these years we've been together," spoke Alarys, moving down to kiss Valarya's stomach. "All these years, and you're not a shred less beautiful than the day I laid eyes on you for the first time." Alarys kissed her again, his hands then slinking down to his wife's waist.

Lord and Lady Drethen looked at one another once more, with lust, passion and desire burning in both their eyes. Alarys smiled, and Valarya then gave a soft, pleasured whimper as her husband slowly lifted off her blouse.

A loud knock sounded at the bedroom door suddenly, startling both Drethens. Alarys let out an aggravated grunt at this unwelcome interruption, and the knocking only grew louder and more frantic.

"Lord Drethen!" Malisarr called from the other side of the door with clear urgency, his voice noticeably panicked. " _Lord Drethen_!"

"Leave it to that _idiot_ to ruin this," Alarys muttered angrily. "What in bloody Oblivion do you want, Malisarr?!" The bedroom door opened then, the guard captain hurrying inside.

"My lord! There-," Malisarr paused when he saw Alarys and Valarya on the bed. Immediately noting the incensed glower Alarys gave him, it did not take him long to figure out what he was interrupting.

"A hundred apologies, my lord and lady," said Malisarr with a small bow. "Please forgive my intrusion."

"Malisarr, you have exactly five seconds to explain the meaning of this," Alarys snarled, his voice resembling a growl. The young Dunmer guard captain cleared his throat as he stepped forward.

"I have failed you, my lord Alarys," declared Malisarr, hanging his head in shame. "I come before you to beg you for your forgiveness."

Lord Alarys Drethen stood up from the bed, walking towards Malisarr. The partially undressed Valarya promptly covered herself with the sheets.

"What in Dagoth's name are you talking about, Malisarr?" Lord Alarys stood only inches away from the quivering guard captain, his face contorted to a scowl.

"I have just been informed that a group of the slaves working the ebony mine attacked my men as they were being led back to the plantation, my lord," Malisarr answered, his voice quiet. The guard captain looked his employer straight in the eyes, clearing his throat again before continuing.

"Three of them have escaped."


	11. The Price of Defiance

Treads-Marshes swiftly ducked his head to the right, narrowly dodging Svigny Frost-Heart's attack. The Nord woman momentarily left herself open with that strike, and with a fluid swing of his arm, Marsh delivered a sharp counterblow to Svigny's left side.

Svigny let out a brief grunt of pain as Marsh's wooden practice sword struck her in the hip, but she nonetheless remained steadfast. The Nord speedily whipped around on her feet towards him, and Marsh spun his sword as he took his defensive stance. Just a little ways off to the side, K'Jhari and Ashara sat silently beneath the nearby tree, the Khajiit siblings watching the sparring match with an amused interest.

Wasting not another second, Svigny came at Marsh again, delivering a fierce flurry of blows that Marsh gracefully parried. The Argonian may have been early into his fifth decade, but he was no less nimble and agile than he had been when he was half his age. His years of work on the Drethen plantation had kept his muscles strong, as well as keeping him quick on his feet.

Svigny followed through with a ferocious forward thrust, her sharp battle cry ringing through the air. Anticipating this, Marsh nimbly spun to the side, immediately retaliating with a riposte that jabbed the Nord in the same spot as before. Svigny staggered then, and before she could even respond, with a flick of his wrist, Marsh sent Svigny's sword flying straight out of her hand.

"Damn it!" exclaimed the Nord woman, bringing her hand to her side and massaging where Marsh had struck her. "I yield, Marsh. I yield."

 _Looks like you've still got it, Marsh_ , thought the Argonian to himself, smiling.

"Way to go, Marsh!" cheered Ashara from the side. K'Jhari merely looked on in silence, petting his little sister's head.

"I'll admit, I underestimated you, Marsh," complimented Svigny, retrieving her wooden sword from where it had landed. "Despite my years of training with the Companions, it would appear I still have much to learn."

"You fight well, Svigny. Do not sell yourself short," Marsh replied with encouragement. "You're strong, and you fight with an iron resolve that can only be commended."

"Thank you, Marsh," Svigny smiled. "That is most kind of you to say. I don't think I've ever seen footwork as quick and accurate as yours."

"I was quite an accomplished thief in my younger days, when I was still a free Argonian," Marsh remarked. "Good footing only comes natural in that line of work."

"Not to sound boastful, but few of my opponents have ever been able to withstand the force of my attacks like you did," said Svigny.

"Brute strength is quite often an effective tactic in battle, but it is not without its shortcomings," Marsh pointed out. "Sure, against your common dull-witted bandit or brigand, strength wins out more often than not. But a patient, weathered, and calculating opponent will see right through that, and simply wait for you to tire yourself out. Every warrior's stamina runs out eventually, no matter how strong or fierce they may be."

"Oddly enough, that was always the biggest criticism leveled at me by my instructors in the Companions," Svigny admitted. "They always told me I was far too aggressive when I fight, and that I lack stamina."

"There's no such thing as a perfect fighter, Svigny," Marsh replied. "As I believe you said yourself, sparring isn't about winning, but striving to improve yourself."

"Indeed I did," the Nord answered with a smile.

"Well, that certainly knocked the wind out of me," Marsh chuckled. "Want to give it a try, K'Jhari?" The Khajiit did not answer, but the look on his face revealed his uncertainty and doubt in himself.

"Don't worry, K'Jhari, I'll be easier with you than I was with Marsh," promised Svigny.

"Come on, brother! You can do it!" Ashara encouraged. K'Jhari gave his sister a loving smile, kissing her lightly on her head.

"Very well," K'Jhari finally said, standing up. He walked over toward Marsh and Svigny, with Marsh handing him his practice sword. As K'Jhari and Svigny prepared to spar, Marsh himself sat right next to Ashara against the tree. The Khajiit girl snuggled up nice and cozy against him, and Marsh smiled, wrapping an arm around her.

"I always like watching you fight, Marsh," Ashara commented joyfully. "Will you teach _me_ to be as good as you someday, Marsh?" The Argonian laughed softly.

"Perhaps in a few years, child, when you're a little older," answered Marsh. "Let's watch your brother now, okay?"

K'Jhari and Svigny now stood across from one another, wooden blades in hand. Marsh assessed K'Jhari with scrutiny as the Khajiit took his defensive stance.

 _Good, K'Jhari. Spread your legs apart, just like I taught you. That's it_ , thought Marsh, giving K'Jhari his silent approval.

"Okay, K'Jhari, I'm going to come at you first," Svigny stated, holding her blade above her head. "I simply want you to defend yourself. Can you do that?" The Khajiit merely gave a nod of his head, holding his own blade firmly in his hands. "Okay, get ready now."

Svigny lunged forward then, opening with a horizontal slice. K'Jhari successfully blocked her strike, and the Nord promptly followed through with a series of quick, light attacks. K'Jhari parried these as well, but he noticeably staggered upon the impact of Svigny's last blow.

 _Move your feet, K'Jhari_ , Marsh silently commanded. _A moving opponent is much more difficult to hit._ K'Jhari leapt backwards as Svigny came at him again. The Khajiit then attempted to counterattack with a rather clumsy thrust of his blade. Svigny gracefully spun out of the way, and brought her sword to K'Jhari's now exposed abdomen, stopping just at the point where she would have hit him.

"Rats," K'Jhari muttered, eyeing Svigny's blade only inches away from him. "Khajiit told you he was no good at this."

"That's not true, K'Jhari," said Svigny encouragingly, lowering her sword then. "You handled yourself well at the start there. A solid defense is important for any fighter. You just need to move around a little more."

"My thoughts exactly," Marsh agreed.

"We can stop if you'd like, K'Jhari," Svigny offered. "Or would you rather try again?"

"Yes, I will try again," said K'Jhari, and Svigny smiled. The Nord and Khajiit readied themselves again, taking their stances before commencing the next round.

Ashara continued to watch with undivided attention, cheerfully encouraging her brother. Marsh, on the other hand, found himself gradually tuning out the sparring match, becoming little more than background noise to him. The Argonian turned his gaze to the night sky, his eyes fixated upon the glittering field of stars shining beneath the brilliant moonlight. The gentle flutter of the wind and the distant chirping of crickets lulled Marsh into a state of complete relaxation and contentment. Since the beginning of his life on the Drethen plantation so many years ago, rare became the moments when Marsh could truly say he felt happy and at peace. Brief and fleeting were those moments, and this only caused Marsh to appreciate them all the more when they did come. His attention soon reverted to Svigny and K'Jhari as they continued their sparring, and Marsh smiled as little Ashara sat nestled up against him.

 _What could ruin this_? The Argonian mused to himself.

That question was immediately answered by the loud tolling of a bell, nearly scaring the Argonian right out of his scales.

"What in the Hist?!" Marsh exclaimed, shooting to his feet. The bell sounded again, its harsh, unpleasant chime ringing all across the fields and hills.

"Marsh, what is that?!" Svigny asked with mild panic. Ashara rushed over to K'Jhari just then.

"That, my friend, is the sound you will hear every single morning when it is time for the slaves to awake and form rank, before beginning yet another workday," Marsh answered. No sooner had he said that, all the slaves of the Drethen plantation began to pour out of their shacks, filing obediently in an organized line towards the forefront of the fields just as they did every morning.

"Brother, what's happening?" Ashara asked with a panicked voice, clinging onto K'Jhari's arm. The bell continued to chime, and the slave shacks were soon all but entirely empty.

"This one does not know, sweet sister," K'Jhari replied, petting Ashara's head in the hopes it would comfort her.

"I have not a clue what this could be about," stated Marsh, "but I reckon it certainly can't be good. I suppose we better follow suit with the others." Setting their wooden swords back in their usual spot, the four of them then scurried hastily across the field to join up with the other slaves as they gathered together.

The shrill ring of the bell continued to resonate as the four of them hurried along, each chime no less unpleasant and deafening than the last. By force of habit, the slaves of the Drethen plantation had arranged themselves in an orderly fashion, standing in several rows of perfectly straight lines as they were expected upon every dawn. Marsh found himself paying little attention to the curious chattering of the gathered slaves as he, K'Jhari, Ashara, and Svigny all pushed through the crowd and made their way to the very front.

The bell finally ceased just as the group joined in with the front line. Marsh gazed straight ahead, his entire being swelling with anxiety and dread as he spotted the numerous plantation guards lined up directly across from them.

"What on Nirn could this be about?" Svigny whispered, standing to Marsh's left.

"I have no idea, Svigny," the Argonian replied solemnly. "But I am damn sure the biggest part of me wants it to stay that way." Marsh could only continue to look on, waiting with bated breath at whatever was about to unfold. The incessant, restless murmuring of the other slaves did nothing to ease his overwhelming anxiety.

"Marsh, look," said K'Jhari, pointing ahead. The metal gate to the plantation opened just then, and several more guards marched onto the field. It took every ounce of courage inside Marsh to stay calm as he watched the guards pour through the gate like ants. With each passing second, Marsh found himself liking this less and less.

"Form rank, maggots! _I said form rank!_ " Malisarr's booming voice called, the guard captain storming furiously through the gate with a squad of four guards at his back. Every single one of the slaves stood straight as a board at Malisarr's command, every one of them facing the hideous, snarling guard captain.

"I want silence!" He barked, and the field immediately became still and noiseless as a crypt. "Your owner wishes to have a little chat with the lot of you." Marsh's heart froze.

 _By the Hist, this cannot be good_ , Marsh thought. All eyes looked towards the gate. Three more plantation guards stepped onto the field. And following directly behind them, was none other than Lord Alarys Drethen himself.

Not a word was uttered as Lord Drethen slowly approached the now terrified slaves. None dared move a single muscle, none dared even make so much as an audible breath. The Dunmer lord stopped only mere feet in front of the slaves, with Malisarr standing vigilantly at his back. In this one moment, Marsh was truly unable to imagine a sight more terrifying in his mind than this.

Lord Drethen paced down the long line of slaves, hands folded behind his back, surveying his quivering slaves with a piercing, fiery glower. The uneasy silence remained unbroken, the only audible sounds being the footsteps of Lord Drethen and Malisarr as they continued to march along the lined up slaves.

Marsh looked down at Ashara, who was visibly shaking as she clenched tightly against her brother. The Argonian placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Don't be afraid, young one," he whispered. Marsh wasn't sure if he was trying to comfort Ashara in that moment, or himself.

Marsh could only stand in silence as he watched the two Dunmer walk briskly in front of the slaves, still examining them with a hateful glare. The Argonian's chest tightened inside of him as Lord Alarys and Malisarr approached their position in the line.

Instead of passing them right by as Marsh expected, Alarys and Malisarr suddenly stopped, almost directly in front of him and his three companions. Marsh's heart dropped to his stomach as he glanced into the eyes of his owner, unable to do a damn thing except wait in unadulterated fear at whatever was to come.

"Treachery…" Lord Alarys Drethen at last spoke, his gravelly voice barely a step above a growl. The eyes of every slave focused to their owner as he addressed them.

"I give you worthless ingrates a living," snarled Lord Drethen. "I give you shelter, I give you food, I give a purpose to your pitiful, meaningless lives, and you repay me with _treachery_!" Every word out of the Dunmer lord's mouth was coated with seething, venomous hatred.

 _What in the Hist is he talking about_? Marsh pondered. Lord Alarys moved on further down the line of slaves.

"Less than an hour ago…" the slave-master spoke again, pausing briefly, "Less than an hour ago, a group of slaves attacked my guards as they were being escorted from the ebony mine back to this plantation. Their daring escape attempt was successful, and as of now, we have no idea where they are." Several stunned gasps followed Lord Drethen's announcement, Marsh being no exception. The gathered slaves began murmuring amongst each other once more.

" _Silence_!" Malisarr commanded, and all was immediately silent again. "None of you maggots are to speak unless Lord Drethen speaks to you first!"

"Before any of you begin to harbor similar thoughts," said Alarys, "I will have you all know that word has already been sent to the slave-hunters of House Dres. Wherever these escaped slaves may be, they will not remain free for long. They _will_ be apprehended, and they will be punished accordingly."

"However, in the meantime," spoke Malisarr immediately after, "there is another reason you have all been gathered here. You see, three slaves were able to escape…but there were in fact _four_ that were involved in the attempt."

Marsh's stomach twisted into a knot.

"Oh yes, one of them was caught, you see, and is currently awaiting punishment," the guard captain sneered, an expression of sadistic glee sweeping across his scarred face. "And all of you worthless maggots will now bear witness to that punishment. Bring her in!" Malisarr gestured to the plantation gates, and all the slaves shifted their gazes accordingly.

Treads-Marshes watched as the recaptured slave in question was then forcibly ushered onto the plantation grounds by two guards. And the Argonian's heart could have stopped when he immediately recognized who she was.

K'Jhari gently nudged Marsh's arm, whispering, "Isn't that…?"

"Arlena…" the Argonian muttered in dismay, staring in horror at the Imperial girl for whom he had suffered the sting of Malisarr's whip, and spared from punishment in the ebony mine.

"You foolish girl," Marsh whispered with a pained shudder. "You foolish, stupid girl." It seemed that Malisarr's guards had already done a number on the young girl during the escape attempt, if the discolored bruises on her face and arms, as well as her bloody nose were anything to go by. Arlena herself was sobbing heavily as the plantation guards held her by her arms, her eyes wide with terror.

"K'Jhari, who is she?" asked a frightened Ashara, looking to her brother. "What are they going to do to her?"

"Be silent, child," was K'Jhari's response, and he gave his sister a brief, comforting pat on her head. The other slaves all remained quiet as Malisarr then moved towards the terrified Imperial girl.

"One of the most dire offenses a slave can commit is trying to escape from their master," stated Malisarr, his voice booming across the fields, "and this offense carries the most severe of punishments, to those who are caught. The lot of you have all been gathered here tonight, to see firsthand just what happens to those who try and fail. To witness in person, the price of defiance." Arlena wept even more loudly at Malisarr's words, her body trembling so severely the guards had to actively hold her up. The Imperial did not even attempt to beg for a reprieve.

"At your command, Lord Drethen, we shall begin," said Malisarr, looking to his employer. Lord Alarys did not speak, only giving a subtle nod of his head to indicate permission to proceed.

Marsh, as well as every other slave of the Drethen plantation, watched in silent horror as the guards dragged the hapless Arlena a short distance over to the nearby tree. The Imperial girl was so battered and weak that she offered no form of resistance whatsoever.

One of the guards then unraveled a length of rope, and proceeded to bind the girl's hands above her head, tying her securely to the thick tree branch directly above. Arlena was then turned around, so that her back was facing the congregation of slaves. Her weeping became even more frantic with every second.

"My whip," ordered Malisarr, and one of the guards set off to retrieve it.

"An ordinary whip will not do for this, Malisarr," Lord Drethen declared. "An offense of such severe caliber must be met with equally severe punishment." The Dunmer lord was silent a moment, moving closer to the tree to which Arlena was bound.

"Bring the Shredder," he ordered.

That guard returned not long after with a whip in hand, and Marsh found himself examining it closely as it was handed to Malisarr. At first glance, this looked no different from any other regular whip. Only upon closer inspection did Marsh see why the Shredder was named so. Most of the whip was made from normal leather, but the last several inches at the end were instead made of steel, complete with serrated, razor-sharp edges that joined together right at the tip.

Marsh's breath caught inside his throat as he eyed this monstrosity.

 _By the Hist, that thing will tear her flesh right to the bone!_

"K'Jhari, hide your sister's eyes," Marsh whispered.

"Marsh, no," the Khajiit girl protested.

"Ashara, do not argue," K'Jhari ordered. "This is nothing a child needs to see."

"I'm not going to be a child forever, big brother," she hissed defiantly. Marsh and K'Jhari simply glanced at one another, neither of them making any further effort to change the girl's mind. Marsh himself certainly couldn't help but commend Ashara's spirit in that moment.

His attention reverting to the scene at hand, Marsh watched as Malisarr walked over to Arlena, who was visibly panicking as she struggled against the rope binding her to the tree. The guard captain stepped in front of the terrified Imperial, smiling sadistically as he held the Shredder before her eyes.

"You escaped punishment the first time," said Malisarr, and Arlena whimpered. "Damn shame you just had to go and push your luck."

"Ten lashes, Malisarr," commanded Lord Drethen. Malisarr moved to Arlena's backside, whip firmly in hand. With one motion, he viciously tore off the girl's tunic, completely exposing her bare flesh. She let out a sharp cry.

"Please…don't do this…" Arlena finally pleaded, her voice teeming with fear as she sobbed even harder. "I won't ever try to escape again. Please!" Malisarr only chuckled at her pitiful begging.

"Oh I _know_ you're never going to try again, my dear," Malisarr sneered, "not after I'm done with you." The Dunmer now stood directly behind Arlena, dangling his whip along the ground. Marsh knew that Malisarr would draw out this cruel moment for as long as he possibly could.

A moment later, Malisarr looked to his employer once more. Lord Alarys Drethen simply gave another nod of his head.

A violent snap sounded through the air when the first strike of the whip came, followed by an agonized cry from Arlena. Marsh winced, instinctively turning away his head for the briefest of moments. The other slaves were audibly gasping and crying in horror. A pit formed in the Argonian's stomach as he eyed the hideous laceration that ran diagonally all the way from Arlena's right shoulder blade, to her left waist. Blood was already pouring out from the wound like a river.

Marsh looked down to Ashara. The Khajiit girl was visibly shaking as she held onto her brother, but Marsh could see she was trying to stay strong.

The second slice of the whip came soon after, with several more quickly following. Arlena's excruciating screams of pain shook Marsh to the core, and the Argonian was unable to keep from weeping. He glanced at the crimson pool of blood forming at Arlena's feet. Every strike that Malisarr delivered with the Shredder tore through the girl's flesh like mere paper. So deep and severe were the oozing gashes on her back, Arlena looked as if she were being mauled by a panther.

Marsh briefly glanced at the other slaves. Many of them had turned their heads away, unable to watch the brutality that was unfolding before their eyes. The Argonian felt a grasp on his hand then, and looked to his left at the quivering Svigny Frost-Heart. Unable to conjure any words of comfort for her, Marsh simply placed his arm around her, holding her close.

Arlena's punishment continued. Marsh mentally counted each slice of the whip as it came down.

 _Six_ , he counted silently, his heart throbbing in his ears. _Seven. Eight._

When Malisarr delivered the ninth strike, the serrated edges of the whip became stuck in Arlena's back, and a sickening tear could be heard as he forcefully yanked the steel tip right from her flesh.

Barely any trace of skin remained on Arlena's back at this point. The long, deep welts from the whip crisscrossed in every which direction all down her back. The torrent of blood gushing from her terrible wounds nearly resembled paint beneath the bright moonlight as it dripped at her feet.

Malisarr stood back, dangling his whip as he prepared to deliver the tenth, and final strike. The rope that bound Arlena to the tree was the only reason she was even still standing.

"Malisarr, wait," Lord Drethen suddenly ordered.

"My lord?" Malisarr looked back, gazing at his employer with mild confusion.

Alarys walked over to where Malisarr stood, examining the scarring wounds that marred Arlena's back. The Dunmer lord spoke not another word, but simply held his hand out, his palm open.

Catching his employer's drift immediately, Malisarr obediently handed Lord Alarys the whip.

All stirring voices fell silent once again. Alarys Drethen stepped slowly towards the Imperial girl, her back utterly, cruelly eviscerated beyond what any words could describe. Clutching the whip firmly in his left hand, the Dunmer struck the ground several times, causing the whimpering Arlena to flinch violently.

 _Compared to this, my punishment was a mere hornet sting_ , Marsh thought. How he even had the stomach to still be watching all this, he couldn't be sure.

Lord Alarys Drethen brought back his left arm. With every ounce of strength the Dunmer could muster, he then thrust his arm forward, the Shredder taking to the air again.

The scream that followed barely sounded human.

Marsh looked down at Ashara, who at this point could no longer stand to watch this atrocity taking place. The Khajiit girl buried her face into K'Jhari's tunic and began to sob. Her big brother gently rubbed her head in an attempt to calm her.

"You did well, Ashara," Marsh complimented in a whisper.

The Argonian looked back to Arlena, her agonized shrieks and cries resounding through the ears of every slave of the Drethen plantation. Her back was an utterly lacerated mess now, the last traces of skin that remained torn and shredded away. Blood poured from the horrendous, gaping red slashes like a stream, painting the grass a sickly wine-red.

Lord Alarys handed the bloodied whip back to Malisarr.

"I don't think I could've done that better myself, my lord," said the guard captain with cruel glee.

"She's not done yet, Malisarr," Lord Drethen announced, turning his gaze back to the Imperial girl. "A simple whipping is not punishment enough for an escape attempt."

"Hmm, perhaps she could stand to lose a body part…or two?" Malisarr inquired, drawing a dagger from his belt. Arlena let out another cry of terror at that.

"She works in the ebony mine, so she needs both her hands," stated Lord Alarys, "and taking an eye seems rather pointless." The slave owner was silent as he pondered briefly. "But, I see no reason why she needs to keep her tongue." Not a second later, Malisarr was already marching over to Arlena, still bound to the tree.

"Oh gods, no!" the Imperial cried, her body writhing as she struggled against the rope with all the strength she had. "Don't do this, please! I'm begging you, _please_!" Malisarr struck her with his fist, her head jerking violently to the right.

"Don't struggle, and it'll all be over in a second, my dear," sneered Malisarr, dagger clutched firmly in his hand. With his other hand, he forced Arlena's mouth open, slowly bringing the dagger to her exposed tongue.

Treads-Marshes could remain silent no longer.

" _Enough of this_!" cried the Argonian, breaking from the crowd. Marsh could hardly believe he was coming to Arlena's aid for a second time.

" _You_ again?!" barked Malisarr, now storming over to where Marsh stood. "Get back in line, scaleback! Or I will have you ruing the day you were hatched!" Marsh ignored the guard captain, making his way over to Lord Alarys himself. Five plantation guards immediately rushed over and stood at their lord's back, ready to unsheathe their blades at a moment's notice.

"Lord Drethen, I beg of you, please end this madness," pleaded Marsh, staring directly into the fiery red eyes of his owner. "Please, she has suffered enough." Lord Alarys moved closer to the Argonian, and Marsh trembled for but a second as the Dunmer's hateful glare pierced straight through him like a knife.

"Last I checked, _I_ was the owner of this plantation, not you," Lord Drethen snarled. "I will be the judge of when she's suffered enough." Malisarr shot over to the exchange, standing by his employer's side.

"This one seems to fancy himself some sort of hero amongst his fellow slaves," said Malisarr. "Say the word, my lord, and I'll flay this lizard alive scale by scale."

" _You_ will keep your mouth shut, Malisarr, and that dagger in your belt," Lord Drethen commanded, shooting the captain a glower. Like an obedient dog to its master, Malisarr nodded his head and stepped away. Alarys shifted his gaze back to Marsh.

"What is your name, lizard?" the Dunmer inquired. Marsh took a second to clear his throat.

"Treads-Marshes, my lord," he answered, with a hint of nervousness. His owner gave him a curious look.

"And how long have you been on my plantation, Treads-Marshes?"

"Roughly two decades, give or take."

"I purchased you at Tear, I presume?" Alarys asked.

"Yes, my lord."

"And how much did I pay for you?" The memory of that day was still so clear and vivid in Marsh's mind, it was as if it had happened only yesterday.

"The slave trader you bought me from initially wanted six thousand drakes for me," Marsh responded, taking a melancholic breath. "You haggled him down to five."

"Five thousand drakes, and twenty years you've been on this plantation," Alarys spoke. "I can only imagine the coin your labor has made me during that time. Many slaves do not last that long, Treads-Marshes. It would seem my investment in you certainly paid off." Marsh remained silent.

"With that being said, Argonian," Lord Drethen continued, "if I were to kill you right here and now, your death would be of no monetary loss to me." Marsh gave his owner a defiant glare.

"You can do whatever you please with me, Lord Drethen," Marsh asserted. "But I beg you, my lord, please punish the girl no further. Look at her back…there's nothing left of it." The Argonian and Dunmer both looked over at Arlena.

"Malisarr here seems to think you a hero, Treads-Marshes," Alarys said with an amused grin. "Is he right, Argonian? Are you a hero?"

"A hero is the last thing I would ever call myself, my lord," Marsh replied.

"Then why do you risk your own hide for this girl?" the Dunmer inquired.

"Because…" the Argonian began, pausing for several moments, "because it's right." Marsh stared assertively into the eyes of Lord Alarys Drethen as he spoke. "Simply doing what is right does not make someone a hero, my lord." Alarys chortled in response.

"You know, I actually think I'm starting to like you, lizard," stated the Dunmer. A long, tense silence then lingered between master and slave, both of them staring deeply into one another. The rest of the slaves looked on with bated breath, dreadfully awaiting whatever was to come.

"If you mean to kill me, Lord Drethen, then do it now and be done," Marsh commanded.

 _Did I just speak my last words?_

"And make a martyr out of you?" Alarys retorted. "I think not." The Dunmer lord glanced over at Malisarr.

"Untie the girl," Alarys ordered. "Treat her wounds, then take her to the dungeon. Two weeks locked in a freezing cold cell amongst the rats ought to set her straight." Malisarr nodded in compliance, and then gestured to his men.

"Thank you, Lord Drethen," Marsh said, gratefully. While this wasn't ideal either, it was certainly better than Arlena losing her tongue, and Marsh was glad her terrible wounds were at least going to be tended to. Marsh watched as the Imperial was promptly untied. The guards had to catch Arlena as she collapsed to the ground. Once she was steady, she was hurriedly brought through the gate, and off the fields.

"And as for you, Treads-Marshes," snarled Alarys, glaring at the Argonian again. "If you know what's good for you, I would strongly suggest you get back in line now." Marsh gave no argument, and scurried back to his companions.

"And the rest of you," Alarys called, addressing the entire mass of slaves, "you're all confined to your shacks for the rest of the night. I want a heavy patrol on the field tonight. Anyone caught outside will be dealt with." With that, Lord Alarys Drethen took his leave through the gate and headed back to the manor. Six guards trailed behind him.

"You heard the man!" Malisarr shouted to the slaves. "Back to your shacks, maggots!" The crowd dispersed then, nary a sound to be heard from any of them as they compliantly made for their quarters.

After what he had just been forced to witness, Marsh found himself wanting nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a week straight. Nobody on this plantation, Marsh included, would ever forget the cruel barbarism that had just transpired. The Argonian hurried through the crowd at a brisk pace, eager to put this dreadful night behind him.

"Marsh!" Svigny's voice called from behind. "Marsh, hold up." The Nord woman rushed to catch up with him.

"Svigny."

"Marsh, I…" Svigny began to say, "I just wanted to let you know, that was the bravest thing I've ever seen in my life."

"And probably the stupidest," Marsh quipped. Svigny gave him a gentle look, softly taking his hand into her own.

"Marsh, I've known you for mere hours, and yet I already admire you more than anyone I've ever met thus far in my life," Svigny praised, giving the Argonian a warm smile.

"Save your admiration for someone who deserves it, Svigny," Marsh replied, his eyes looking to the ground. "One good deed will never erase my lifetime of bad ones." Marsh closed his eyes. In that moment, he vividly recalled his little sister's final moments in this world, when they were locked together in the slave pens of Tear. He recalled spiking their waterskin with the last drops of the poison he carried. And he recalled the moment she took her last breath as the poison took her life in the blink of an eye.

Svigny placed a hand on Marsh's scaly cheek.

"Marsh, I don't care what you may have done in the past," she stated. "What you did just now for that girl was immensely courageous."

"That wasn't even the first time I stood up for her," said Marsh. "The lashes on my back I showed you earlier, they were supposed to be hers. She was spared from punishment completely the first time, thanks to me." Marsh took an exasperated breath. "And then she had to go try and escape."

"Marsh, you said that a hero was the last thing you would call yourself," said Svigny. "But I want to tell you now that you _are_ a hero."

"No I'm not, Svigny," Marsh replied, his voice still glum.

"You are to me, Marsh." Svigny said softly. Marsh looked into her eyes, and allowed himself to smile a moment later.

"Thank you, Svigny," he said gratefully. "That is most kind of you to say."

"Hey, Marsh, um…" the Nord began after a brief silence.

"What is it, Svigny?" Marsh inquired curiously.

"If it's not too much trouble, could I possibly share your shack with you?" she asked. "I mean, I don't know anyone else here besides you, K'Jhari and Ashara, and-"

"It would be my pleasure, Svigny," Marsh accepted without hesitation, and the woman smiled.

"Thanks, Marsh," she said, giving the Argonian a quick hug.

"Speaking of which, we should probably get going," Marsh remarked. "No one is going to be allowed outside shortly."

"I suppose you're right," Svigny answered. The two of them stood there, silence hanging between them. They watched the other slaves filing hurriedly back to their shacks, no doubt most of them disturbed by what they had been forced to watch. Treads-Marshes prayed that sleep would come to him easily tonight, but he feared that the harrowing images of what had happened would plague his thoughts all night long and hinder any attempts at rest.

"Come on," said Marsh to Svigny, giving a faint smile. "We should go."


	12. Master & Slave

Three days had passed since witnessing that Imperial girl's horrific punishment. Three days, and young Ashara had still been unable to shake those harrowing images from her mind. Like some persistent disease, the memories of that ordeal plagued the Khajiit girl's every thought, and haunted her dreams every night. Ashara had remembered Marsh warning her to hide her eyes just before the punishment began, but out of some foolish desire to be strong and brave, she had insisted against it. At the end of it, she had proven unable to watch the whole punishment through, and now no small part of her was wishing she had heeded Marsh's initial warning.

Ashara reached above her head, duster in hand, and began wiping down the bookcase. Her duties and chores around Drethen Manor were the only things that kept her mind occupied enough to temporarily cast aside the memories of that night. But even so, try as she might, the events of that night still lingered within her thoughts like a shadow. No matter how much she engrossed herself in her work, Ashara remained unable to stop that terrifying scene from replaying itself over and over again in her mind.

The last two shelves at the top of the bookcase were too high for Ashara, and the Khajiit had to stand on the nearby chair to help her reach. She diligently continued with her work, trying her hardest to think of nothing else but her present task.

The door to the master bedroom opened just then. Ashara's gaze shifted over just as Lady Drethen stepped inside, promptly shutting the door again behind her. The Dunmer briskly made her way over to the desk that stood by the bed, not speaking a word to the Khajiit girl, nor did she so much as even pay her a passing glance.

Lady Drethen sat at the desk, tying her hair back into a ponytail. Donning her spectacles, she then took several blank parchments from the desk drawers. She grabbed her quill, giving it a couple quick dabs in the inkwell before getting to work.

 _No glass of wine_? Ashara thought.

Knowing better than to watch for too long, Ashara reverted her focus to her work. Once she was finished dusting off that bookcase, she brought her chair over to the one just next to it and repeated the same process.

As she worked away, Ashara would take periodic glances at Valarya through the corner of her eye. The Dunmer woman's attention remained fixed to the parchments on her desk, her eyes not looking up even once the entire time. The scratching of her quill sounded all through the bedroom as she continued writing. Ashara found the silence mildly awkward initially, but within only a couple minutes, she found herself beginning to appreciate it. Considering how engrossed Lady Drethen was with whatever she was writing, Ashara almost wondered if she even knew she was there at all.

Finished with the bookcases at last, Ashara climbed down from the chair and returned it to the nearby table. She made her way across the bedroom afterward, and began to dust the end tables that stood by the window. Lady Drethen cleared her throat just then, but still she remained silent. Ashara briefly watched as the Dunmer dipped her pen into the ink again before setting it back to the page.

Ashara stared out the window as she continued to work, gazing longingly at the warm light of the afternoon sun. The Khajiit girl could feel a small measure of peace beginning to swell inside her that moment, and she briefly smiled to herself. Her eyes shifted below to the green fields of the plantation. For a good several minutes, Ashara watched the numerous slaves of the Drethen plantation intently as they toiled away. She wondered if she would be able to spot K'Jhari within the crowd of slaves, and moved closer to the window. She keenly scanned the vast fields for roughly a minute, trying to pick out her big brother. Her efforts proved fruitless, however, as she was too far away, and the slaves were simply too many to distinguish them in any way.

Ashara knocked the ornate silver vase off the end table with her arm. With a panicked gasp, the Khajiit rushed to grab it, but was unable to catch it in time. The vase tumbled gracelessly to the floor with a mighty crash, and Ashara could only watch helplessly as it shattered into countless broken fragments.

A startled Lady Drethen shot out of her seat, immediately spotting the scattered pieces of the broken vase all across the floor. Ashara's breath caught in her throat as she looked over at Valarya, her entire being shaking in fear as the Dunmer's fiery gaze bore straight into her.

"You clumsy little..." hissed Lady Drethen, her voice sharper than a dagger. "Do you have _any_ idea whatsoever how much that cost?! Do you?!"

"I'm sorry, Lady Drethen!" poor Ashara cried, tears flowing from her eyes almost immediately. The girl was shaking so profusely it was a wonder she could even stand. "It was an accident, my lady! I didn't mean to! I promise I didn't mean to! Please believe me, my lady!" Valarya Drethen gave no immediate response, but Ashara knew just from her fuming expression that she was in big trouble now.

"It was an accident, Lady Drethen…" Ashara continued to plead, still sobbing. "Please don't hurt me, my lady. I swear it was an accident! It won't ever happen again!"

Lady Drethen's expression suddenly softened, and the Dunmer woman actually looked as if she was hurt by what Ashara had just said.

"You…you think of me as someone who would strike a child?" she posed. Valarya's voice was now gentle, but also carried a strange hint of sadness.

"But…I broke your vase, my lady," Ashara replied, tears still streaming down her face. "Aren't you going to punish me?"

"Is punishing you going to fix the vase, Ashara?" Lady Drethen asked, raising her eyebrow. Ashara respectfully looked her in the eyes as she spoke. She felt herself beginning to calm down just slightly that moment. "It was a simple accident, Ashara, like you said. Certainly nothing that warrants such an overreaction."

"Do you…do you mean that, my lady?" Ashara asked with apprehensive relief. She wiped several tears from her eyes as she sniffled.

"Yes, child," Valarya affirmed, giving the girl a faint smile. "Now, get those pieces cleaned up, and let us forget this mishap ever happened."

"Yes, Lady Drethen," Ashara complied immediately. Valarya sat back down at her desk, and Ashara got straight to work with cleaning up the broken vase pieces.

Silence filled the bedroom once again. Relief did not even begin to express what Ashara felt. She had fully expected Valarya to punish her in some way as soon as that vase smashed to the floor. Lady Drethen's rather tempered reaction was certainly not what Ashara was counting on, but that didn't make it any less welcome. The Khajiit girl continued to gather the shards of the vase off the floor.

"Ow!" Ashara cried suddenly, a sharp sting shooting through her right hand. She looked at her palm where the shard had cut her. Blood had already begun to seep out from the nasty wound that ran diagonally across the center of her palm. The Khajiit glanced over across the room, and began to panic again when she saw Lady Drethen walking towards her. Ashara had to fight every urge to start crying.

Valarya Drethen knelt down to Ashara's level.

"Give me your hand," she ordered in a soft voice. Ashara was hesitant for several seconds, but she knew better than to disobey. The Dunmer gave her a look of compassion and gentleness, and this gradually eased her fear. She slowly extended her hand as it continued to bleed. Lady Drethen lightly took the Khajiit's hand within her own, inspecting the deep wound carefully.

"It…it hurts, my lady," Ashara winced, taking a sharp inhale through her teeth.

"Be still, child," spoke Valarya. The Dunmer raised her right hand then, and Ashara's eyes widened in amazement as a pale, translucent glow suddenly began to shimmer in her palm. Lady Drethen placed her glowing hand directly on top of Ashara's cut, taking a deep breath as she then shut her eyes.

The pain in Ashara's hand vanished almost instantly. A tingling sensation coursed all through her body, no doubt caused by the mystical light in Lady Drethen's hand. Valarya pressed her hand harder into Ashara's, and the Khajiit could not suppress a smile as the pleasant feeling swelled through every inch of her, making her feel light as a feather, almost as if she could fly.

Lady Drethen lifted her hand after another moment, the glowing light dissipating into nothingness. When Ashara looked at her palm again, she saw not a single sign that a cut had ever been there. The Khajiit girl was stunned silent at what she had just seen. She simply stared at her own hand in sheer awe for a good minute, not saying a word.

"How does your hand feel?" asked Valarya. Ashara looked at her, her still widened eyes betraying her astonishment.

"It's…it's gone," the Khajiit whispered, smiling. "The cut is completely gone! You…you made it all better, my lady!" Valarya couldn't help but giggle.

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to just let you bleed, Ashara," she replied with a smile.

"Thank you, Lady Drethen," said Ashara appreciatively. The Khajiit gazed at her hand again for just another moment, before her attention returned to the pieces of the shattered vase that still lay in a mess all over the floor. Realizing she had almost certainly wasted too much time already, she hurried back to what she was doing. Ashara began regathering the pieces of the vase when Lady Drethen unexpectedly grasped her hand again. She again was gazing into the Dunmer woman's eyes.

"I'll clean this up, Ashara," she offered. "You may sit and take a break if you wish." The Khajiit's eyes practically lit up.

"Uh…yes, my lady, if you say so. Thank you," said Ashara. Not about to argue, she pulled out one of the chairs from the nearby table and took a seat.

Grateful for a chance to finally rest, Ashara gave her tired limbs and muscles a generous, and much needed stretch as she relaxed in her chair. A child of nine she may have been and full of energy, her duties of cleaning and tidying the numerous rooms and hallways of Drethen Manor for hours on end nonetheless took their toll on the young Khajiit, very often leaving her physically and mentally exhausted. The times where she was allowed to stop with her work and simply rest were too few, in Ashara's opinion, but that didn't mean she appreciated them any less.

Ashara continued to relax joyfully in her seat, watching Lady Drethen as she cleaned up the mess on the floor. The Dunmer swiftly gathered the shattered fragments of the vase into a single small pile before carefully scooping them into her hands. She walked over to the wastebasket in the corner of the room, the broken shards dropping from her hands into the basket as she dumped them inside.

Wiping her hands together for a second, Valarya then made her way over and pulled up a seat herself, sitting across from Ashara. Silence lingered within the bedroom once more, and Ashara soon found herself unsure if she should say something, or simply allow the silence to remain.

Ashara turned her gaze to the window again, staring outside at the gorgeous summer afternoon. Her thoughts began to wander like a smooth, flowing stream as she gazed at the clear sky. Peaceful daydreams swirled inside her mind, bringing to her a brief glimmer of joy and excitement, just as they would for any child her age.

Valarya Drethen let out a wince of pain, her breaths becoming heavy and frantic. Ashara quickly looked over, watching her clench her stomach and shut her eyes.

"My lady? Are you alright?" the child asked with a strange sense of concern.

"Go to that cupboard and bring me the blue vial," she ordered with an urgent voice. "Quickly now."

Not wasting a second, Ashara raced over to the cupboard across the bedroom. Finding the vial in question, she popped off the cork before hurrying back to Valarya. The Dunmer hurriedly grabbed the vial from Ashara's hand. Without even looking at it, she brought it to her lips and drank the whole thing in mere seconds.

Lady Drethen slammed the empty vial onto the table, her hand still pressed against her stomach.

"Are you…are you okay, Lady Drethen?" Ashara asked again.

"Yes," she answered, her breathing beginning to slow gradually. "Yes, I'm fine, child. Thank you. You can sit back down." Ashara didn't even notice how close to Valarya she was standing until now. She promptly took her seat again.

"Are you sick, my lady?" the Khajiit inquired then.

"No," Valarya quickly answered. She took off her spectacles and began rubbing her eyes. "It's probably…probably just something I ate that is not agreeing with me, that's all."

That satisfied Ashara enough, and she asked nothing more about it.

Another moment of silence passed between the two. Lady Drethen's breathing soon returned to a steady pace. She slumped back in her seat, hand still on her stomach, and shut her eyes again. Ashara watched her curiously. When Valarya's eyes remained closed for an extended period of time, the Khajiit began to wonder if she was falling asleep.

"I…I didn't know you could use magic, my lady," said Ashara somewhat abruptly, breaking the silence. Valarya opened her eyes again, sitting up straight in her seat. She gave the Khajiit a brief smile.

"Does magic intrigue you, Ashara?" she inquired, tilting her head to the side. Ashara nodded.

"Can anybody learn how to use magic, my lady?" she asked, her voice full of childlike wonder.

"You're a curious one, aren't you?" Lady Drethen remarked with a grin. "As to your question, I'm afraid I cannot give you much of an answer. It's certainly possible that every living individual possesses some form of magical potential, but that is of course mere speculation."

"How did you learn to use magic, my lady?" probed Ashara, her fascination only growing. Lady Drethen didn't seem to mind her questioning, so she felt it safe to keep asking.

"I've always had a natural affinity for the arcane arts, ever since I was but a girl," Valarya answered, perhaps a bit conceitedly. "I was already reading spell tomes by the tender age of eight. Every day for hours on end, I conducted extensive research into the great wonders of magic, devouring every piece of information I could get my hands on. I successfully cast my first spell when I was nine, though it was little more than a measly spark on my fingertip."

"When I was quite a bit older," Valarya continued, "I became a student of House Telvanni. I had heard countless tales of the legendary prowess of the Telvanni mages, and I knew that studying with them was the perfect avenue to further my magical knowledge. I spent a great many years learning from them, and it was under their tutelage that I came to hone my talents in magic, and realize my full potential."

"What other spells can you cast?" Ashara queried. "Can you shoot fire right from your hand?" Valarya couldn't suppress a smile at the young girl's curiosity.

"Watch closely," the Dunmer whispered, leaning forward in her seat. Holding out her right hand, she closed her fingers for several seconds. When she reopened them, a small burst of flame suddenly emerged, hovering just above her palm. Ashara let out an astonished gasp, watching the tiny ember flicker and dance about, completely mesmerized. Lady Drethen closed her fist again, and the flame vanished into thin air. She then pointed to one of the bookcases across the room.

"Bring me the Biography of the Wolf Queen, the red leather book, third shelf from the top," Valarya said. The Khajiit stood from her seat, scurrying over to the bookcase. She reached her hand up to grab the book in question.

The book slid out from the others and off the shelf, but Ashara had not touched it. A second later, the book was now floating completely in midair. Ashara looked back at Valarya, who was quite literally controlling the book with her hand. The Khajiit looked on with continued fascination as the book then gingerly hovered over to the table, eventually landing softly right in front of Valarya. Ashara sat back down in her seat, not saying a word.

"What did you think of that?" Valarya asked with a satisfied grin.

"That was amazing, my lady," Ashara whispered. "Can you do one more?" Judging from the glint in her eyes, Valarya was probably enjoying this just as much as Ashara.

Lady Drethen held out her hand again, curling her fingers into a claw. Ashara leaned in slightly closer. A purple-red sphere of energy took shape in the Dunmer woman's hand. Only seconds later, a black, ethereal shadow passed over her entire body like some ghostly waterfall. And a second after that, Valarya Drethen was gone.

Ashara gasped in shock, nearly falling right out of her chair as she shot backward. The Khajiit's head whipped in every direction, her eyes frantically scouring across the bedroom.

"Behind you," came Lady Drethen's voice. Ashara whirled around, facing the reemerged Dunmer. Ashara was again stunned silent for several moments, her eyes widened in wonder.

"You…you can turn _invisible_?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

"Among all the spells I have learned in my years, that was one of the most difficult ones for me to master," stated Valarya. "Invisibility spells are fickle ones. They are merely illusions that deceive the minds of ordinary observers, and conceal the caster from all eyes. But performing the simplest of actions, even speaking a single word, will dispel the illusion." Ashara wasn't sure if she understood what Lady Drethen had explained to her, but she was certainly no less mystified by what she had been shown.

Valarya walked over to the cupboard, taking out one of the bottles of wine and pouring herself a glass. Drink in hand, she sat back down in her seat across from Ashara.

As silence reigned again, Ashara's thoughts once more returned to the cruel barbarism that she, as well as all the other slaves of the plantation had been made to witness the other night. That poor Imperial girl's agonized screams of pain and terror resounded through her mind again and again, the images of her lacerated back firmly branded into her memory, perhaps forever.

"Something troubles you," Lady Drethen stated, clearly sensing the young Khajiit's discomfort. She took a modest sip from her wine glass.

"It's…it's nothing, my lady," she fibbed, her eyes looking to the floor. "I'm just tired. I didn't sleep well last night." Valarya raised an eyebrow, an incredulous look written across her face.

"When you lie to someone, you insult their intelligence," Valarya said, her voice taking a stern tone. "Try again." Another sip of wine.

Ashara quivered in her seat. She looked up right into Lady Drethen's eyes, the Dunmer woman's intense stare doing nothing to ease her swelling anxiety.

Ashara opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Tears welled in the young girl's eyes, and she was weeping only seconds later. At this point, the perceptive Lady Drethen required no words. Ashara's crying told her everything.

"You know why that girl was punished, don't you?" asked the Dunmer, still staring at the sobbing child. Ashara looked up and met Valarya's gaze, trying urgently to find the right words in her mind to say. Many a time, Ashara had seen firsthand just how nasty Valarya Drethen could become in the blink of an eye, and the Khajiit was now desperately trying to avoid saying or doing anything that might provoke her.

"She…she tried to escape from the plantation, my lady," she answered hesitantly, sniffling as she spoke. The Dunmer's stare remained fixated upon her.

"That's right," she affirmed, her expression stern and solemn. "Attempting to escape from the plantation is a grievous transgression. A transgression that must always be answered with punishment. There are rules that every slave here is bound to follow, as there are also consequences for violating those rules. Do you understand, Ashara?" The little Khajiit obediently nodded her head, wiping away several tears as they dripped from her eyes.

"That girl knew the risks she was taking in attempting to escape, and she knew the consequences that would befall her if she failed," explained Lady Drethen. "She deserves pity from no one. She was a fool. And fools always get what they deserve."

In that moment, Ashara began to feel a tinge of anger mounting inside of her. At first it was no larger than a tiny bubble, but as the seconds passed, and Lady Drethen's venomous words and callous attitude seeped deeper into her mind, the anger began to swirl like a burning column of flame. The Khajiit directly met Valarya Drethen's gaze then, and in that instance, completely disregarded her promise to Marsh.

"Nobody is a fool for trying to escape, Lady Drethen," Ashara asserted, trying to sound as authoritative as she could. "Everyone on this plantation deserves to be free."

Ashara could hardly believe those words had just passed her own lips. It was almost as if some otherworldly force had momentarily possessed her and had made her speak them. The Khajiit could feel her heart racing inside her, feeling as if it could burst from her chest at any moment.

Lady Drethen merely smiled with smug amusement at the young child's statement.

"Is that so?" she replied condescendingly, letting out a brief chuckle.

"Yes, my lady."

"Perhaps the next time you cut yourself, I'll simply _let_ you bleed," said Valarya. If she thought this would frighten Ashara, she was quite mistaken.

"Everyone here deserves to be free, my lady," the Khajiit stated again, meeting Valarya's stare. "And someday…someday, we _will_ be free."

"Careful now, child," Valarya warned, her voice remaining calm, but still threatening all the same. "Words are dangerous things, Ashara. You will find it wise to keep such thoughts to yourself, lest you say something you'll come to regret." Ashara, despite being the young, tender child she was, saw straight through the Dunmer's veiled threat.

"You're afraid, my lady," stated the Khajiit, her voice quiet, but no less resolute. Ashara knew full well the consequences that her words would likely inflict upon her. At this point, she figured she might as well keep going.

"Three slaves were able to escape, my lady. Your power over us is getting weaker, and you know it," Ashara said, a glare of defiance clear in her eyes. "Someday, you and your husband are going to get what you deserve."

Lady Drethen shot out from her seat at that, her crimson eyes burning fire as she glowered at Ashara.

"I could have you whipped for saying such things," she spat. "Just like that Imperial bitch."

"And just why don't you, my lady?" the child retorted. Valarya only grew more incensed. "It's because you know if you were to hurt a defenseless child like me, every single slave here would immediately rise against you."

Valarya stood there seething, looking as if she could explode at any moment. Ashara smirked to herself, knowing that in this single, brief instance, she had just become more powerful than Lady Valarya Drethen herself.

"Get out, you insolent little worm," Valarya curtly ordered, her voice practically a hiss. "I have had quite enough of you today. _Get out_!" Enthralled by her own rage, Valarya did not even notice how tightly she was clenching her wine glass. The glass shattered right in her hand, the wine splashing to the floor and on her outfit, while numerous shards embedded into her skin.

Ashara, calm and collected as could be, stood from her seat and gave a bow.

"As you wish, Lady Drethen," she said, walking away.

Ashara smiled to herself as she left Valarya standing there amidst the countless tiny pieces of her wine glass on the floor. For the entirety of her life on this plantation, she had been made to fear Valarya Drethen; conditioned to be completely subservient to her, to obey her every wish and command without question or protest. And now, within the span of just minutes, this simple slave child had not only stood up to her, but had made her look like a complete and utter fool. Whatever consequences Ashara was to face as a result of this, the Khajiit girl knew she would at least find solace in that fact.

Ashara opened the door, taking a single step outside the bedroom.

"The girl who was punished, you seem to care a great deal about her," Valarya's voice called from behind her.

"Y-yes, my lady, of course I do," Ashara replied, turning back around toward the Dunmer. The sinister, borderline evil smile that crossed the woman's face that moment immediately filled her with dread and unease once more.

Valarya walked over to the bed, ringing the little bell that hung just next to it. Ashara glanced at the woman's bleeding hand, the shards of glass still sticking out.

Seconds later, one of the household guards came marching into the bedroom.

"Lady Drethen," the guardsman addressed her, giving her a respectful bow. "How may I serve you?"

"That Imperial girl who tried to escape the other night, she is still in the dungeon, yes?" Valarya inquired.

"She is, my lady," the guard confirmed. "Your husband ordered that she be kept locked in a cell for two weeks."

"That will not be happening," asserted Valarya.

"You…you want her released, my lady?" the guard asked.

Valarya shook her head, momentarily glancing at Ashara before speaking the words that made the Khajiit immediately regret every word of defiance that had passed her lips.

"I want her killed."


	13. Seeds of Rebellion

The sun had set roughly an hour past. Nightfall was fast approaching, a thin splash of pink on the western horizon the only remaining hint of light. The moons had already begun to shimmer radiantly in the darkening sky, hovering amidst a scarce amount of stars that twinkled like tiny eyes.

Grateful to be finished yet another workday, K'Jhari wasted no time in putting away his tools. Hunger stirred inside the Khajiit, his stomach growling like some wild animal. His bones ached all throughout his entire body, his muscles throbbing, almost feeling as if they had been set aflame. In that moment, K'Jhari wanted nothing more in the world than to get some food, relax his weary self, and simply enjoy what he hoped would be a peaceful evening.

His tools put away, K'Jhari hurriedly began to make his way over to where the plantation guards were handing out the daily rations. As the Khajiit scurried briskly across the plantation grounds, he could scarcely make out some of the mutterings of the other slaves. Arlena's brutal punishment three nights ago was still fresh in the mind of every slave of the Drethen plantation, K'Jhari being no exception. K'Jhari himself preferred to avoid discussing the subject altogether, more than likely because he thought it would help him put it out of his mind that much sooner. Getting Ashara to go to sleep that night had been an ordeal all on its own.

 _I should have hidden her eyes_ , he thought, a wave of guilt washing over him.

Since the escape, the entire plantation guard force had been even more vigilant and attentive than ever before. The patrol on the field had been doubled. For the last three days, every inch of the plantation grounds, and every last slave, had been watched like hawks by the guards. Since the night of the escape, it seemed as if no slave could go anywhere without coming across squads of patrolling guards. K'Jhari had no doubt that they were also keenly listening in on conversations, surely with the purpose of catching any whispers of potential plots of escape. K'Jhari knew that the guards would be on high alert during the coming weeks, and he also knew the only thing he could do in that time was simply stick to his assigned tasks while hopefully remaining unnoticed.

After obtaining enough food and water for he and his sister, K'Jhari set off through the fields of the plantation and headed to where he had sparred with Marsh and Svigny the night of the escape. Despite the greatly increased guard presence the past few days, this spot remained relatively unwatched, which K'Jhari was grateful for.

The Khajiit drew closer to the remote spot, and it was then he spotted none other than the Argonian and Nord themselves, already eating away as they leaned comfortably against the tree. K'Jhari's stomach rumbled even more restlessly, and he hurried his pace accordingly.

"K'Jhari, there you are," Treads-Marshes greeted as he spotted the Khajiit approach. "I hope your day went well."

"As well as a day could ever be here," K'Jhari answered. "Hello, Svigny."

"Hi K'Jhari," the Nord woman smiled, taking a hearty bite of her meal. As if K'Jhari really needed another reminder of how famished he was. He promptly sat himself down against the tree beside Marsh, wasting no time in digging into his own food. The growling in his stomach silenced almost immediately as he swallowed his first bite. A generous mouthful of water soon followed, the Khajiit barely giving a care that several drops had splashed onto his tunic.

"Khajiit cannot believe the amount of guards watching the fields," K'Jhari stated, his mouth still half-full with food.

"I hear you, my friend," Marsh concurred, his voice glum. "Ever since the escape, it seems every inch of this damn plantation has been crawling with guards. I suppose it's no surprise this would be their reaction. There have been more than a few escape attempts during my time at the plantation, but none of them successful. At least, not until now."

"K'Jhari is still amazed that you actually stood up to Lord Drethen himself, Marsh, and did not suffer punishment. This one thought you had surely signed your death warrant." The Argonian let out a chuckle.

"Believe me when I say I am no less amazed, K'Jhari," he replied. "I knew that I was very well risking my life by standing up for Arlena a second time. But I was not going to simply stand there and watch as Malisarr, that damned savage, cut out her tongue."

"I think you had every slave on this plantation scared out of their minds during your verbal faceoff with Lord Drethen," Svigny chimed in. "Through my years with the Companions, I've certainly seen my share of scary situations, but I don't even think any of those had my heart racing so fast."

"Well believe me," Marsh began, "that is the absolute last time I stand up for that girl. Lord Drethen must've been in a damn good mood that night, because he could have just as easily ordered _my_ tongue out, or worse. If Arlena doesn't learn her lesson from this and pulls something like that again, Hist forbid, then she's on her own. I know better than to push my luck with Alarys Drethen."

"This one thinks that would be wise, Marsh," said K'Jhari.

The trio continued to indulge in their dinner, and a lengthy silence stretched between them. The last trace of daylight had vanished, and the sky was now fully dark. Thin, wispy clouds lightly shrouded the glowing stars. A gentle, soothing wind began sailing across the fields of the plantation, sending a pleasing chill through K'Jhari. The crops hummed softly as the breeze rolled on through, swaying elegantly to and fro.

After several minutes, it was Svigny who broke the silence.

"Were you and Ashara born in Elsweyr, K'Jhari?" inquired the Nord.

"Yes, we were," he answered. "Although Ashara has no memory of our homeland, as she was only three when we were taken and brought here to Morrowind."

"I've always wanted to visit Elsweyr," Svigny said. "Though now, I'd say there's a slim chance of that ever happening, considering…"

"We lived in a small village, southeast of Riverhold," explained K'Jhari. "Our parents made a simple living as farmers, growing and providing food for the modest population. They were not rich by any means, but we lived well enough. Our pa was a mercenary in his younger years, and he taught K'Jhari how to shoot a bow and arrow. K'Jhari helped pa with the farm most days."

"Hmm, I see."

"K'Jhari was eleven-years-old when Ashara was born, and-" He stopped abruptly midsentence, looking as if he was struggling to continue.

"And what, K'Jhari?" Svigny asked. The Khajiit chuckled briefly.

"This may come as a surprise to both of you," he continued, "but when Ashara was born...I didn't like her. In fact, K'Jhari would even go so far as to say he hated her." The pain on the Khajiit's face as he confessed that was all too clear.

" _Hated_ her?" Svigny's eyebrow raised. "How could you ever feel that way towards your own sister? Especially a child as sweet as her?" Those questions visibly pained K'Jhari.

"Perhaps hate was a poor word to choose, but K'Jhari would be lying if he said he did not resent Ashara all the same."

"You were an only child for most of your life," Marsh pointed out, his voice sounding like he understood where K'Jhari was coming from. "You were used to being your parents' center of attention. You received their undivided love and affection for the majority of your childhood. When your sister was born, however, you suddenly found yourself having to share that love and affection with her. For lack of a better word, you felt threatened by Ashara, and that led to you feeling resentment toward her."

K'Jhari remained silent, but the subtle nod of his head confirmed Marsh's every word as truth.

"I don't think anybody who is an older sibling can claim they haven't felt that way at least once," Marsh stated.

"K'Jhari knows it was wrong to feel that way," he said, somewhat remorsefully. "When the Dunmer slavers from Morrowind raided our village, killed our parents, and enslaved us, Ashara became my entire world. I vowed that day, that I would do anything to protect my sister, that I would do anything to keep her safe. She deserves so much better than the life of a slave, but K'Jhari always tries to do what he thinks is best for her. That is all he can do."

"You're a good brother, K'Jhari," said Svigny, smiling at him. "Ashara is lucky to have you. No matter your past feelings toward her, I can tell you love her dearly. Neither of you deserve to be here, K'Jhari. If the gods are kind, perhaps they will someday see fit to free you both from this captivity."

"How could any gods that would allow a child of three to be enslaved ever be kind?" K'Jhari spat in contempt. He quickly realized though that the Nord was only trying to be comforting, and that his remark was probably uncalled for.

"Forgive me, Svigny. Khajiit should not have said that."

"I took no offense, K'Jhari," said Svigny. "I admit, you raise a good point."

"It brings K'Jhari great pain to speak of home," he spoke in a solemn voice. "K'Jhari would give anything for he and Ashara to be back home in Elsweyr, or even just Ashara."

"I understand, K'Jhari," Svigny said softly. "It was never my intent to cause you pain. I was simply curious about your homeland, and just thought I would ask."

Another long silence passed between the three. It didn't take long for K'Jhari to finish his meal. Still somewhat peckish, the Khajiit was briefly tempted to steal a bite from his sister's portion of their rations, but he knew he could never do that to her, no matter how hungry he may have been.

"Can I…can I ask the two of you something?" Svigny posed suddenly, the hesitation in her voice quite apparent.

"Certainly, Svigny," replied Marsh.

"Has there…" she paused again, stealing a cursory glance around the area for any nearby guards, "has there ever been any kind of revolt on this plantation before?"

K'Jhari was certainly not expecting that question, and judging from the look on Marsh's face, neither was he.

"No," the Argonian answered, his voice hushed, as if he were afraid some guards were hiding right in the tree above them. "At least, not that I know of. Certainly not during my time here."

"Hmm, interesting," said Svigny. Marsh gave her a concerned, almost scolding look.

"Svigny, I don't know what ideas you may be getting, but you would be wise to cast them out of your mind at once. 'Revolt' is not a word you want to just be throwing around a place like this."

"You're seriously telling me that there's never been a single time where anyone has mounted some sort of uprising?" Svigny challenged. "You're telling me that everybody here is simply content to spend the rest of their lives as slaves? To spend the rest of their lives doing backbreaking work day after day? Nobody here is willing to take a stand and fight for their rightful freedom? You would all simply act like cowards, and allow yourselves to be chained in captivity until your dying breaths?"

 _Svigny, you naïve girl,_ thought K'Jhari. Treads-Marshes merely laughed at the Nord woman's spirit.

"You speak these words as if you're the first slave in history to ever think them," said the Argonian. "You've been a slave of this plantation for a grand total of three days, Svigny. Believe me when I say that every single slave here once thought like you do now. I admit, I myself was no exception. But everyone here also knows that mounting any sort of revolt would be folly. You saw firsthand how the Drethens punish failed escapes. To try and stage a full-on insurrection against them would just end in our slaughter."

"But we outnumber the plantation guards, Marsh," stated Svigny, the determination still burning in her voice. "Surely we would stand some sort of fighting chance?" Now it was K'Jhari's turn to laugh.

"And just how exactly would we fight the guards?" asked the Khajiit. "Throw rocks at them?"

"K'Jhari's right," Marsh agreed. "Yes, we may indeed outnumber the guards, but that will do little good when we don't even have proper weapons. The guards here are expertly trained and disciplined. Even if all the slaves did somehow band together and stage a rebellion, it would be crushed for a joke."

"And that's not even mentioning the Drethens themselves," Marsh continued. "Lord Alarys is a master swordsman, and his skill with a blade is regarded as legendary all across Morrowind. And if the few rumors I've heard are true, his wife is an exceptionally gifted sorceress."

"Isn't it better to die fighting for your freedom, than to spend your life in chains, Marsh?" asked Svigny. Marsh merely gave a frustrated sigh.

"Damn it, Svigny, this isn't Skyrim!" he shot back, perhaps a bit louder than he intended. "I admire a great many things about the Nords, but I swear, your insatiable thirst for battle is something I will never comprehend."

"Khajiit thinks it would be wise to stop talking about this, before any guards overhear," K'Jhari stated, and Marsh nodded his agreement.

"I am of a mind with K'Jhari. We will speak no more of this." And so they didn't. Svigny Frost-Heart's frustration was written clear as day across her face, and several times she looked as if she were about to argue, but the Nord woman ultimately held her tongue.

The three of them were so occupied by their conversation that they barely noticed Ashara trudging over toward them.

"Ashara," K'Jhari acknowledged her as she approached. The Khajiit girl was strangely silent, her head hung low. K'Jhari immediately became filled with concern at his sister's unusually gloomy demeanor, gazing at her inquisitively. "Sister, what is the matter?"

She remained silent, slowly lifting her head to reveal teary eyes. K'Jhari's entire being was suddenly swelling with dread and trepidation. Even in spite of his sister's silence, the Khajiit knew that something was severely wrong.

"Ashara, tell us, what's wrong?" Svigny inquired, with a gentle, almost motherly voice. The young Khajiit still gave no response. She ran into her brother's arms, and was now sobbing freely. K'Jhari pulled his little sister in close as she cried into his clothes, gently stroking the back of her head in some attempt to calm her down.

"It's alright, sweet one," K'Jhari consoled her. "It's alright." The elder Khajiit sibling couldn't think of much else to say to her, considering he still had no idea why his sister was so distraught. Another minute passed before Ashara was able to speak.

"She's dead, K'Jhari," she muttered in a low voice, sniffling as she wiped her eyes.

"Who's dead, Ashara?" he queried, gazing directly into his little sister's weeping eyes. Ashara sobbed for several more seconds before she could speak again.

"The girl who tried to escape, Arlena…she's dead."

K'Jhari, Marsh, and Svigny gasped in horror.

"Arlena's dead?" Marsh exclaimed, his voice a pained shudder. " _Dead_?!" The Argonian's mouth hung open in shock, his body quivering. Ashara wept again.

"That's not…that's not possible," Marsh was holding back tears as he spoke. "Lord Drethen said Arlena would be kept in the dungeon for two weeks. How in the Hist can she be _dead_?!"

"Marsh…" Ashara began, pausing to wipe more tears from her eyes, "Arlena was killed on Lady Drethen's orders."

"No…" said Marsh as tears now welled in his eyes. "No, no, no, no."

Svigny placed her hand on the Argonian's shoulder. "Marsh…"

" _NO_!" Marsh's cry startled the rest of the group. Unable to hold in his emotions any longer, Treads-Marshes wept openly and loudly, for several minutes.

Although K'Jhari himself was greatly saddened at this tragic revelation, he knew that Marsh by far would take this the hardest. On two occasions now, Marsh had come to Arlena's defense, stood up for her. The Argonian had grown to care a great deal about that young Imperial girl, and his immense grief upon learning of her death broke the Khajiit's heart.

"Marsh, I'm so sorry," said Svigny, wrapping an arm around him as he continued to cry.

"Khajiit knows you cared about Arlena," K'Jhari offered.

"I…I don't understand," Marsh spoke through his sobs. "Why would Lady Drethen order Arlena's death? It doesn't make any sense." Ashara began to weep again at Marsh's question, and K'Jhari had a nagging suspicion his little sister knew the answer.

Marsh must have figured it out as well, because he was now glaring at the Khajiit girl as she still sobbed.

"What did you say to her, Ashara?" the Argonian inquired, his voice carrying just a trace of anger. The girl did not answer, and that only confirmed what K'Jhari suspected. "Ashara. What. Did you say. To Lady Drethen?"

"I'm sorry, Marsh," Ashara's voice was a mere whisper as she sniffled. "Arlena's death is my fault. I'm so sorry."

"You stood up to her, didn't you?!" Marsh asked, his voice raised. "You pissed Valarya off, and then she had Arlena killed for it. Is that what happened, Ashara?" The still crying Khajiit merely nodded her head in confirmation of Marsh's words.

"By the Hist, Ashara!" Marsh exclaimed, making no effort to conceal his ire. "I warned you…I _warned_ you about standing up to Valarya Drethen! I told you nothing good could possibly come of it! How could you have been so stupid?!"

"I said I'm sorry, Marsh!"

K'Jhari grabbed Marsh by his tunic, forcibly pulling him close so their faces were mere inches apart.

"You do not _ever_ speak to my baby sister that way," K'Jhari hissed, rage boiling in his blood. "Ashara did _nothing_ wrong, and you will not take out your anger upon her!" Marsh was visibly taken aback, his eyes widened in disbelief. K'Jhari had never been one to anger so quickly like this.

"Marsh, K'Jhari, get a bloody grip! Both of you!" Svigny commanded suddenly. "K'Jhari, let go of him." The Khajiit glared at Marsh for a second longer, but ultimately complied and released his grip of the Argonian.

"You two are best friends," said Svigny, trying her best to calm the both of them down. "We all grieve for Arlena, and it is only natural to feel anger. But we should not be directing that anger at each other!"

Several minutes passed, the silence tense and uneasy. K'Jhari and Marsh both took a moment to calm themselves down and pull together. K'Jhari knew that Svigny spoke the truth. He despised this whole situation, despised how quickly it had caused two best friends to turn on each other. This was not the time to be fighting amongst each other, K'Jhari knew. No matter the extent of their anger and outrage at this terrible situation, lashing out at one another was going to achieve nothing.

"Marsh…" spoke Svigny, once everyone had had a chance to collect themselves, "I believe you have something to say to Ashara."

Marsh looked at the Khajiit girl, his eyes ridden with guilt from his outburst. He cleared his throat and wiped a stray tear from his eye.

"Ashara, I'm sorry I yelled at you, and said those things to you," he apologized, his voice soft and consoling. "None of this is your fault, Ashara. I want you to know that. I didn't mean a word of what I said earlier, and I hope you can forgive me."

A few tears still lingered in Ashara's eyes, but the kitten looked at Marsh, a warm smile crossing her face.

"Ashara, you know I love you like a sister, and I always will." Marsh opened his arms then, and Ashara went over to him. They embraced each other warmly.

"I love you too, Marsh," Ashara whispered. She lightly pecked his cheek, and Marsh patted the top of her head as he still held her close.

"I'm going to kill them," Marsh then stated, his voice almost a whisper.

"You're going to kill who, Marsh?" asked Svigny.

"You know damn well who, Svigny," Marsh remarked. "Alarys Drethen, Valarya Drethen, Malisarr, and every single guard on this damn plantation. I'm going to kill every last fucking one of them." Pure, unadulterated hatred stirred in the Argonian's voice, and none spoke a single word for several moments.

"Well Marsh, I must say I'm mildly surprised," Svigny commented. "It was only minutes ago that you completely shot down any idea of rebelling against the Drethens."

"The Drethens have finally crossed the line, Svigny," Marsh's voice was seething. "I have been a slave of this plantation for roughly two decades now, and have had the misfortune of witnessing many despicable acts during that time. Despicable acts that have chilled me to my very core, acts that have boiled my blood hotter than fire."

"But to murder a young, innocent woman in cold blood…" Marsh continued. "A woman who only days ago, suffered through the most brutal punishment that has ever taken place on this plantation. That _cannot_ go unanswered. This is not about me, Svigny. This is not about my own feelings. Arlena deserves justice, Svigny. What happened to that poor girl is beyond reprehensible, and the Drethens need to be made to answer for what they have done."

Svigny gently took hold of Marsh's hand, gazing directly into his eyes. The Argonian returned the stare.

"Marsh, are you saying what I think you're saying?" the Nord asked with a hushed voice, her face serious as could be. "Do you mean to revolt against the Drethens?" The Argonian let out an exasperated sigh.

"I don't know, Svigny. I just don't know…" Marsh buried his face in his hands for several moments as he pondered this entire situation over. A long, eerie silence pervaded amongst the group.

"Marsh, you know these atrocities are just going to keep happening," Svigny asserted, her tone of voice stern. "These people are monsters, Marsh. They rule over us with an iron fist, and are free to inflict any sort of cruelty they so wish upon us without reprisal. If they continue to go unchallenged like this, the tragic fate that befell Arlena will just happen to somebody else. Unless we fight back against the Drethens, and the guards that serve them, then nothing will ever change, Marsh. If you truly wish to avenge Arlena's death, and put an end to this tyranny at long last, and achieve our freedom, you know our only choice is to fight."

"Freedom…" Marsh muttered, speaking the word as if it were in some foreign language. "Freedom is something I have not had in far too long. I'm not sure I would know what to do with it even if I had it."

"You've been largely silent on this matter so far, K'Jhari," Svigny pointed out, looking at him. "What's your opinion on all of this?" He had to take a moment to register all of this in his mind.

"K'Jhari would love nothing more than for him to be free again," he answered. "Ashara as well, along with every other slave here. All these years, Khajiit has dreamed of returning to Elsweyr with Ashara, and showing her the homeland of our kin."

"We can make that happen, K'Jhari," Svigny encouraged. "Our freedom is entirely within our grasp, but we will never achieve it by doing nothing. If we, as well as every other slave here, are going to be free again, then we need to take a stand and fight for it."

"And just how does Svigny propose we do that?" K'Jhari inquired.

"Look how upset _we_ became on learning of Arlena's death," Svigny replied. "When the other slaves hear of this, do you truly think they won't be just as upset? This grave injustice done to Arlena may just be the spark they need to rise up against the Drethens. Her barbaric punishment is still fresh in the minds of everyone here. If we tell everyone else what has happened, if we offer them the promise of freedom from this oppression, I know we can plant the seeds of rebellion within their hearts."

"A fair point," Marsh conceded. "If we are truly going to mount a revolt, we are certainly going to need to convince as many of the other slaves as we can to join with us. Arlena's wrongful death is as good a rallying cry as any, and I do not doubt that the others will share our outrage, and stand with us."

Svigny smiled. "That's what I want to hear, Marsh."

"You two seem to be forgetting that the guards have weapons and armor, and we do not," K'Jhari stated. "If we are going to go through with this, we cannot afford to be stupid about it. Without a plan, the guards will defeat any revolt we stage before it can even begin."

"Yes, you're right, K'Jhari," Marsh said in agreement. "We cannot allow emotion to blind our vision and cloud our judgement. Even if we convince every slave here to risk their life and join us in revolt, it will need to be a calculated, coordinated, and well-planned effort if we are to entertain any hope of success. Being reckless or hasty will do us no favors."

"Wait, Marsh," Ashara spoke up then, for the first time in a while, "is there any way we could get the Empire to help us?" Nobody said a word at her question. "The Empire hates slavery, don't they? Surely they would help us if we asked them to, right Marsh?" The Argonian let out a glum sigh.

"I'm afraid that is not an option, Ashara," he answered dejectedly.

"Why?"

"Well, the most obvious problem is even getting a message to the Empire in the first place," Marsh explained. "But what you need to understand, Ashara, is that the Empire is sworn to uphold the law in the lands they govern, and slavery is still very much protected by law in Morrowind. It is true that the Empire is against slavery, yes, but they are still mandated to reinforce it all the same. It is for that reason that asking the Empire for help is completely out of the question."

"So the Empire really wouldn't help us, Marsh?" Ashara asked with disappointment. Marsh shook his head.

"Not only would they not help us," Marsh began, "if anything, they would be legally obligated to side with the Drethens, if they were to catch word of an uprising here."

"That's not fair!" Ashara exclaimed.

"No, Ashara, it isn't fair. But that's simply the way it is."

"We're on our own, sweet sister," said K'Jhari, patting the top of Ashara's head.

"We don't need the Empire anyway," Svigny retorted. "We already outnumber the plantation guards. All we need is to rally the other slaves, and come up with a plan."

"We need weapons, above all else," K'Jhari reaffirmed.

"Yes. This won't be much of a revolt if we aren't properly armed," Marsh agreed. "We just need to-"

The Argonian stopped midsentence, and the others gazed at him strangely as his sudden silence continued.

"Marsh? What is it?" Svigny asked.

 _He has a plan_ , K'Jhari thought.

A faint smile crossed the Argonian's face. He chuckled briefly.

"K'Jhari, Svigny, Ashara…" he began. "I may just have an idea."

Silence lingered within the group that moment, but all eyes were on the Argonian, eagerly awaiting what he was to say next.

"It's certainly a long shot, not to mention dangerous," Marsh stated, "but if carried out correctly, and with a touch of luck on our side, it just might work."

"What's your idea, Marsh?" Svigny asked, visibly intrigued. K'Jhari found himself greatly curious as well.

"My plan involves several steps," Marsh explained. "And the first step of this plan…involves you, Ashara."


	14. Her Majesty

_Three Days Later_

Valarya Drethen stood at the end of the hallway, silently gazing out the wide, arched window. Not a sound stirred. It was just minutes past the hour of nine, the night young. A gloomy grey fog loomed outside, possessing an almost spectral appearance as it drifted somberly through the trees and enshrouded the surrounding land in its mist. Thin rays of moonlight poured in through the window before which Valarya stood. Glass of wine in hand, she took a long sip as she stared right into her own dim reflection lingering in the windowpane.

The Dunmer woman was garbed in a jet black dress, made from dense, expensive velvet. The lavish garment was decorated with rich, silver embroidery, stitched into elegant swirling patterns that started at the bodice and continued all the way down the sleeves. Small rubies ran along the neckline and down the center of the dress, giving a faint gleam beneath the light of the moons. The dress was even outfitted with ebony plating at the hips and along the abdomen. The skirt bore a touch of grey toward the bottom, with very faint floral designs stitched all around the hemline.

A silver tiara sat upon Valarya's brow, also decorated with rubies just like her dress, with a large one right at the top. Her hair, elegantly woven into braids, cascaded past her shoulders, flowing smoothly to her back. Around her neck she wore a black choker, adorned with an ornate ebony pendant in the shape of an eye that depicted none other than Hermaeus Mora, Daedric Prince of Knowledge and Fate.

To look at her from afar, Valarya Drethen was nearly indistinguishable from the shadows that draped along the corridors of the manor. Since early evening, she had spent hours perfecting every last facet of her appearance in preparation for this night, and for once, Valarya could say she was completely satisfied with how she looked. Looking herself over by the reflection in the window, she gave a faint grin. Every inch of her radiated elegance, grace, power, and authority. And on an occasion as paramount as the one this night, she absolutely refused to accept anything less than just that.

"Lady Valarya," the manor guard's voice called from behind her. Valarya's eyes did not leave the window, and there was a brief silence before the guardsman spoke again. "Your guests have assembled in the grand library, my lady. They await you now." Valarya still did not divert her gaze from the window, her eyes narrowing slightly as her focus remained fixed to the moonlit night.

"They have been given wine?" she at last spoke.

"Yes, my lady," the guard answered. "Your absolute finest, as you ordered."

"Good."

"Is there anything else you require, my lady?"

Finishing the last drops of her wine just then, Valarya handed the now empty glass to the guardsman. He took it from her without delay.

"My lady." The guard gave a brief bow before taking his leave of Valarya.

Lady Drethen spent several more minutes by that window, her mind racing as thoughts swirled uncontrollably inside her head like some storm. Valarya genuinely could not remember the last time she had felt this nervous about anything. Her stomach teemed with butterflies, her chest so tight it felt as if it were constricting upon itself. Valarya placed a hand on her now slightly emerged baby bump, finding a sliver of comfort and solace. She closed her eyes, taking many slow, deep breaths as she attempted to calm herself.

 _Get a hold of yourself, Valarya_ , she mused in self-encouragement. _This is no different than any of the countless Grand Council meetings you have attended through the years. Come on, you can do this_. Another minute passed. At last feeling sufficiently calm, and having summoned every fiber of courage she could find within herself, Lady Valarya Drethen turned from the moonlit window, and set off through the silent, dark hallways and headed for the library, her dress lightly dragging across the carpeted floor.

Two of the household guard stood directly outside the doors to the library. Valarya keenly eyed them, and they promptly straightened their posture as she approached. She stopped again, requiring another moment to collect herself and ease her swelling anxiety.

"They are ready for you, Lady Drethen," spoke the guard to Valarya's left. The Dunmer took a single step forward, stopping yet again as she glanced at each guard.

"Nobody. Enters. This room," she commanded, her voice firm and stern. "Anybody approaches these doors, you send them away. If they refuse to leave, you kill them. Am I understood?" Both guards nodded their heads on cue.

"Loud and clear, my lady," the guard to her right answered. A brief silence passed. "If you are ready." Valarya gave a silent nod of her head. The two guards pushed open the doors for her, and she stepped inside without delay. The doors clicked shut behind her.

The grand library was unarguably the largest room in the entirety of Drethen Manor. Located in the western wing of the mansion on the very top floor, the Drethens' library easily rivaled any of the other great and famed libraries across Tamriel. Consisting of three entire floors, the grand library boasted rows upon rows of bookcases, so numerous that one might swear they were in a maze. There was not a single empty space to be found on any of the shelves. Within this room could be found every book, concerning just about every conceivable subject, written by pretty well every notable author that had ever lived.

It was a surprise to no one that this was Valarya's personal favorite room, and where she preferred to do most of her work during the day. In addition to a near endless trove of knowledge, within the library could be found several cozy reading areas, lounges, and connected balconies on each floor. Lady Drethen strode briskly through the forest of books, taking cursory glances at the numerous paintings, portraits and tapestries adorning the walls as she passed the main sitting area. A massive stone hearth rested at the end of the room, directly above which could be seen a magnificent painted mural that depicted one of the most defining moments in Morrowind's history: the great Battle of Red Mountain, and the subsequent curse of the Chimer race.

Climbing the spiral staircase, Valarya came to the second floor of the library. This floor was quite akin to the first, with books as far as the eye could see. She continued right on up, however, her nerves beginning to flare again as she reached the third floor.

Hurrying past more bookcases, Valarya at last came to the long rectangular table directly in the center of the room, where her esteemed guests awaited her.

Hit with another flash of nerves, Valarya took a single deep breath. With all the confidence and grace she could muster, Lady Drethen made her way to the table. _Here goes nothing_.

Valarya's guests respectfully rose from their seats when they saw her approach. Giving each of them a glance of acknowledgement, Valarya took her seat at the head of the table, her guests reseating themselves immediately thereafter.

 _This is it_ , Valarya thought. Sitting at this table, gathered before her now in her grand library, were the most powerful men in all of Morrowind. Valarya gazed at each of them long and carefully, and they at her. Silence creeped through the air as she met their scrutinizing eyes. It was taking every effort to keep herself composed and collected, but Valarya quickly reminded herself of who she was, and what this was all for. Her nerves calm again, she cleared her throat, taking a breath before addressing her guests.

"Gentlemen," Valarya Drethen began, her voice calm, but also firm and secure. "I would like to thank you all for being here tonight." Her eyes did another passing sweep of each of her guests.

Sitting to Valarya's left was Bolvyn Venim, Archmaster of House Redoran. He was garbed in a dark crimson tunic bearing the sigil and markings of his House. The stern-faced Dunmer lightly sipped at his wine, nursing his goblet as if he were afraid he would somehow lose it. Valarya could have counted on one hand the people in Morrowind who genuinely, sincerely made her nervous and uneasy, and the Redoran leader was one of them. Lady Drethen knew all too well the cold, stubborn, and ruthless personality of Lord Venim, and the way he was looking at her, seemingly dissecting her down to her very soul, did little to alleviate this.

Further on down the table, sitting to Bolvyn's left, was Master Gothren, Lord of Tel Aruhn, and Archmagister of House Telvanni. Dressed in exquisite navy-blue robes, no doubt enchanted, Gothren's facial expression appeared somewhat aloof, his eyes darting in seemingly every which direction. The master wizard lightly drummed his fingers on the table, which normally would have irritated Valarya to absolutely no end, but she of course let it slide in this instance.

To Valarya's right, and across from Bolvyn, sat Resandis Indoril, Grandmaster of House Indoril, her own birth House. Valarya and her family had always held extremely close relations to the Indoril leader. Indeed, not counting her parents, Lord Resandis had been the first to hold her as she first came into the world. For Valarya's entire life, Resandis Indoril had been the Grandmaster, and it was none other than he who bestowed upon her the honor of serving as a representative of their House on the Grand Council. His presence brought Valarya no small amount of comfort in this moment.

Sitting to the right of Resandis Indoril and across from Gothren, was Tholer Saryoni, Archcanon of the Tribunal Temple, and Chancellor of Vivec. As not only the head of the Temple, but also the mortal representative of Lord Vivec himself, Tholer Saryoni wielded immense power and authority across the country, and Lady Drethen knew that acquiring his support was crucial to her plans. The man wasn't dressed particularly extravagantly, clad only in the customary robes of the Temple that most of the ordinary priests also wore.

Sitting directly opposite Valarya at the other end of the table, was Orvas Dren. While not officially the head of House Hlaalu just yet, he was no less a critical component of this entire scheme. Indeed, Orvas already wielded significant political influence over House Hlaalu indirectly, behind the scenes, and carried many councilors in his pocket. Even this being the case, however, his brother, Vedam Dren, was still leader of the Hlaalu as well as the ruler of Vvardenfell. The first step of this entire grand plan was the elder Dren's assassination. Once inheriting his brother's titles, Orvas would have the means to weaken the Empire substantially by withdrawing the support they currently enjoyed from House Hlaalu and striking from within.

And last, but certainly not least, sitting right next to Orvas, was none other than her own husband, Lord Alarys Drethen, recently made Grandmaster of House Dres. Lord Drethen was garbed in a robe of exquisite velvet that was colored black and grey, the Dres sigil emblazoned along the front. As was customary for the attire of many Dres nobles, patches of Argonian hide were sewn into the shoulders of Alarys's robe, as well as the neckline. The Drethens briefly caught one another's gaze that moment, Alarys giving his wife a look of silent encouragement, and Valarya smiled at him.

Looking over her gathered guests once more, Valarya Drethen cleared her throat again.

"I know most of you have traveled here from Vvardenfell," she continued, "and I cannot put into words my appreciation to all of you for answering my call for this meeting." Another momentary silence hung in the air, and all eyes were on Valarya.

"Before we begin, however," Lady Drethen spoke again, "I would like to take this moment to formally congratulate my beloved husband, on his recent appointment as the new Grandmaster of House Dres. May he serve for many years." Her guests shifted their eyes to Lord Alarys, a brief round of applause going around the table. Orvas Dren gave him a friendly pat on the back. Valarya gave her husband a wink, and Alarys couldn't help but smile at her.

"And now, to the business at hand," stated Valarya as she then leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. "The reason I have summoned all of you here is-"

"Wait!" Bolvyn Venim abruptly blurted out, rudely cutting off Valarya. "I have held my tongue thus far, but can do so no longer. I demand you explain what in Oblivion _he's_ doing here." The Redoran Archmaster pointed a finger at Orvas Dren, his voice dripping with scorn.

Valarya shifted back in her seat. _Not even going to let me get out one sentence, Bolvyn_?

"Is there a problem, _my lord_ Bolvyn?" Orvas asked, with a tone of voice clearly meant to mock.

"Don't you dare play coy with me, Orvas," Bolvyn snarled. "Unless I've had my facts wrong all these years, your brother, Vedam, is Grandmaster of House Hlaalu, not you. It should be he sitting in your seat, you n'wah." Orvas Dren merely laughed at Lord Venim's words.

"Vedam is Grandmaster in name only," Orvas retorted, sneering at Bolvyn, "and I assure you, my lord, his days are quite numbered."

"You're a thug, Orvas," barked Bolvyn. That remark only seemed to amuse the Camonna Tong kingpin further.

"And this thug is soon going to be Duke of Vvardenfell," he shot back, smiling. "It would be wise for you to start getting on my good side, dear Bolvyn. If my presence truly offends you so, my lord, you are always welcome to leave."

"Orvas!" Valarya shouted, glaring at him across the table. _I need him, you damn fool_. Lady Drethen couldn't believe this conversation had spiraled out of her control so quickly. If this meeting was to go anywhere, Valarya knew she had to set things back on course, and quickly. She put her face in her hand in frustration.

"Enough, both of you," Tholer Saryoni demanded with a stern voice. "We are guests in Lord and Lady Drethen's home. You will not disrespect them by bickering like children." Bolvyn and Orvas looked to the Archcanon briefly, and then to Valarya. When silence took over again, she knew this was her chance to reassert control.

"Orvas is here at my behest, Archmaster," Valarya stated, their gazes meeting. "That should be reason enough for you." Valarya stood from her seat then, moving to where Bolvyn sat. She leaned in towards the man, her eyes suddenly narrowing into an angry glower.

"And unless you want my guards posted outside this library to beat you to a bloody pulp, Lord Bolvyn," she hissed, "I would strongly suggest you refrain from interrupting me again." Valarya Drethen caught what she was sure was the faintest hint of fear in Bolvyn Venim's eyes, even if only for a fraction of a second. The stoic head of House Redoran swallowed nervously, recoiling back in his seat.

"My apologies, my lady," he offered, nodding respectfully. "It will not happen again." Valarya snatched his goblet right from his hands and took a brief sip of his wine. She slammed the cup on the table before taking her seat again.

"Look at us," she spoke then after a tense silence, her exasperation evident. "How in Oblivion has this great country managed to last for so long, when its ruling figures cannot even be in the same room together without ripping each other's throats out?" None of the men seated at the table uttered a single word to Valarya's query. She stared at each of them with an almost scolding gaze.

"Four hundred years ago," Valarya began, "Tiber Septim and his legions marched on our borders. They invaded our lands, razed our cities, including Mournhold, put down whatever resistances that dared to stand against them, and at the end of it all, forced the entirety of Resdayn to submit to Emperor Septim's rule." She paused momentarily. "And do you know why that was allowed to happen?" All eyes were fixed on Lady Drethen.

"It was because of bickering, just like this," she stated, her eyes narrowed. "Tiber Septim was a smart man. He saw our political weakness, and he exploited it in absolute full. And sure enough, when he and his armies invaded Morrowind, the Great Houses could not even agree on how to defend against him. Seeing the gravity of our hopeless situation, His Holiness Lord Vivec agreed to sign a treaty with Septim. And on that day, Morrowind was officially made a province of the Empire. And _since_ that day, over the course of the centuries, the Imperials have slowly whittled away at our rights, our laws, traditions, and customs." The gathered leaders of Morrowind exchanged awkward, tense glances at Lady Drethen's words, but still they remained silent.

"This is not the land Indoril Nerevar envisioned," stated Valarya. "This is not the land he died fighting for. He would never have allowed his people to be subjugated by a human Empire."

"We are _Dunmer_!" Valarya slammed an angry fist on the table, startling the others. She took a second to compose herself. "We are Veloth's chosen. We were never meant to be ruled over by anyone, least of all pathetic humans. And yet, because of our constant squabbles, petty feuds and trivial disputes, that is exactly what happened." Valarya looked at the faces of the men gathered around her, their expressions solemn and uncomfortable. Valarya knew she had spoken harsh words, but everyone in this room knew that each and every word was truth.

"Our indecisiveness and stubbornness was a mistake, one that cost the Dunmer people dearly," said Valarya, her voice softened. A grin crossed her face, and she leaned forward in her seat. "But we have the chance to correct that mistake, my lords. After hundreds of years of being subservient vassals to the Septim Empire, we at last have the means to challenge their rule, and reclaim Morrowind from their grip."

Valarya looked at each of the Dunmer sitting at this table. Though they still said nothing, their faces told her all too clearly they were intrigued.

"You speak of declaring a war for independence on the Empire?" asked Resandis Indoril, the elderly Dunmer looking at Valarya.

"That is exactly what I speak of, Resandis," she replied to the man she had considered family her entire life.

"And just what makes you think that we stand a fighting chance against the Imperials, Valarya?" Resandis inquired. Everybody in this room knew that few people despised the Empire as much as the Indoril Grandmaster. Valarya smiled.

"The other day, I was given the _pleasure_ of speaking with Vicentus Antorius, here at the manor," answered Lady Drethen. "Through our conversation, he made it known to me that the Imperial Legion has been struggling financially for quite some time. To put it simply, the Legion has been unable to pay for the bare essentials as of late, including the wages of its very own soldiers. And I am sure nobody in here needs to be told that unpaid soldiers will inevitably desert their station."

"That certainly creates a nice advantage for us," said Lord Indoril.

"Gentlemen," Valarya began, eyeing each of her guests. "We have been given a rare, prime opportunity to strike against the Empire that saw fit to invade this country and claim lordship over our people. The Imperials are weak, vulnerable, their power drains by the day. I have called you all here tonight, my lords, because I wish for us to cast aside our differences at long last, and join our forces together against the Empire. With the five Great Houses united, working together as one, I know we will have the strength to cast the Empire out of Morrowind forever, and oust their puppet king, Hlaalu Helseth." Valarya heard a chuckle just then, and she looked over to see that it was coming from Master Gothren.

"Do I amuse you, Lord Gothren?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh no, my lady, that was _rather_ a fine speech," replied the Telvanni Archmagister, snickering. It wasn't until now that Valarya realized he had been completely silent thus far. "I was merely wondering how long it would take for your self-interest to shine through."

Valarya couldn't help but smile, mildly amused. "You think I have self-interest in this?"

"Come now, Valarya. You don't take me for a fool, do you?" Gothren chuckled. Valarya merely watched him silently. "Bringing the Great Houses together to form your own personal army, with which you plan to stage a rebellion against the king, as well as the Empire that backs him. A bold plan, if grossly audacious." Valarya and the head of House Telvanni engaged in an intense stare for several moments.

"I fail to see how fighting to reclaim this land for the Dunmer people could ever be considered a rebellion, Gothren," Lady Drethen remarked, their gazes still locked.

"Call it whatever you wish, Valarya. I see your true ambition," Gothren retorted. "With Helseth and the Empire out of the way, there will be nothing to stop you from seizing the throne for yourself. You may fool the others here with your talks of patriotism, Lady Drethen, but not me. And if you try and deny it, I will take it as an insult."

Valarya shut her eyes, taking a long, exasperated breath. She did not appreciate being called out so brusquely by Master Gothren. The gazes of her gathered guests were piercing into her again, and she found herself scrambling within her mind to find the right words. Valarya could feel tiny beads of sweat pooling at her head. She glanced across the table at Alarys for comfort, and her husband's silent look of encouragement and support was all she needed to get herself together.

"I will not lie to you, gentlemen, my own ambitions are a large part of what drove me to call for this gathering," Valarya confessed. She knew if she was to gain their support, hiding the truth would do her no good. "But I am hardly the first Dunmer in history that has schemed to advance their own station, and I somehow doubt I will be the last."

"My own desires do not diminish my love for Morrowind, however," she continued, "or my love for the Dunmer people. Seeing what the Empire has done to this land over the past four centuries has boiled my blood beyond what I could ever describe. The Empire is a pestilent disease that must be removed, and we have the means to do just that, my lords. But in order for that to happen, we must cease the infighting amongst ourselves, and band together against the true enemy."

"If we the Dunmer are to entertain any hope of casting the Empire out of this country, and _keeping_ them out thereafter, the five Great Houses must work together, and unite under one leader, one ruler, just as they did under Lord Nerevar." Valarya's stern gaze swept over each of the men seated at the table. She slowly stood from her seat, taking a deep breath.

 _Alright, Valarya, time to lay all your cards on the table. It's all or nothing now._

"Lord Gothren speaks the truth," Valarya stated. "With your support, my lords, I would see the Empire overthrown, and King Hlaalu Helseth deposed." She paused again briefly, glancing at each of her guests again.

"And once that is accomplished, it is my intent to claim the throne of Mournhold, and rule as Morrowind's next sovereign."

Valarya Drethen's heart raced faster than a hundred horses upon her declaration. Dead silence fell over the room. Fraught and nervous once more, she cast an anxious glance to the men sitting before her. The extended silence was almost cause to drive the woman mad. She would have honestly preferred it had everyone simply laughed in her face as soon as the words left her mouth. Even that would have been better than this lingering stillness. Valarya cleared her throat, folding her hands behind her back.

"I fully understand your hesitation, my lords," Valarya stated after she calmed herself down. "I am aware this is no small feat that I ask. Perhaps some of you even fear for your own power. I wish to assure you now, my lords, that if I come to the throne, the Great Houses will continue to rule their respective territories with complete authority. You will retain all your positions, all your lands, all political influence, and all rights to govern as you see fit." That seemed to grab their attention, and their eyes were once again on her.

"All I would ask from you, my lords, is your complete, unyielding loyalty," said Valarya. "I would ask that you swear to me an oath of fealty, and that you provide me with your armies should the need to call upon them arise."

"I know I cannot force any of you to join with me," Valarya continued. "And if any, or all of you refuse my request, I will fully respect your decision. But know, my lords, if you help me in my plans…if you help me take the throne, I promise you, I _will_ formally banish the Empire permanently, I will annul the Armistice before having it burned, and, most of all, I will reestablish Morrowind as a free, independent sovereignty. From there, I will work to undo everything the Imperial dogs have done to this country, and usher forth a new age for the Dunmer people."

"So what say you, my lords?" Lady Drethen asked, narrowing her eyes as she glanced at her guests. "Will you stand with me? Will you help me take the throne? Will you help me reclaim this great country from the hands of the Imperials? And, lastly…will you accept me as your queen?" The library was quiet again, and Valarya Drethen waited with bated breath at whatever was to come next.

Orvas Dren stood from his seat.

"I am not a lord, like the rest of you," the man spoke. "I am not the head of a Great House. At least, not yet, and I know most of you probably hold my opinions in little regard. But I doubt any of you at this table will argue with me when I say that the Empire is a wound upon Morrowind that has been allowed to fester for far too long. We have been given a chance to break free from the accursed Imperials at long last, a chance we may never receive again. And I, for one, am not going to pass that up."

"My lady," he said, "I'm afraid I can offer you very little as of right now. But it will not be long before I gain control of House Hlaalu, as well as Vvardenfell. And when I do, you can count on my full support. It will be my honor, Valarya, to aid you in your insurrection against the Empire. And when you come to your throne, my lady, I swear I will serve you faithfully as your Duke of Vvardenfell." Valarya gave the man a subtle, but appreciative smile. Orvas grabbed his goblet then, raising it to Valarya.

"House Hlaalu stands with you, Lady Drethen."

"Thank you, Orvas," she said, nodding her head. Orvas promptly sat back down. Valarya looked to the others gathered at the table, wondering who would be the next to speak.

"Valarya," spoke Resandis Indoril then, standing from his seat. He gently took her right hand, cupping it within his own hands. Valarya smiled warmly at the old Dunmer.

"I have known you since the very first second you came into this world," said the lord of her birth House. "I have always looked to you as my own daughter, Valarya, and it has given me immense pride to watch you grow through the years into the remarkable, talented woman you are today. For countless years, you have served House Indoril to an extent far beyond what I could ever imagine."

"I do not know how much longer I will lead this House," Resandis continued. "But what I do know, Valarya, is that it has always been my intent to name you as my successor, for you to lead House Indoril when I am gone." Valarya swore she could feel a tear coming on.

"You honor me, Resandis," she said.

"But, being here tonight, I realize now that even _my_ position is not worthy of you," stated the old Dunmer. "You deserve so much more than to merely lead a Great House, Valarya. You deserve to lead all of Morrowind. Your goal to retake this country from the wretched Empire is a just one, and I pledge this night to do everything in my power to make that a reality." Valarya couldn't suppress the single sob that escaped her.

"Thank you, Grandmaster."

"Believe me when I say nothing will bring me greater joy in this world than to see you sit upon the throne in Mournhold, Valarya," said Resandis. "And nothing will bring me greater joy than to address you as 'my Queen'." Resandis Indoril kissed Valarya's hand, followed by both her cheeks.

"House Indoril stands with you, Valarya." The man retook his seat then. Feeling mildly emotional, Valarya had to take a moment to get herself back in order.

 _This isn't over yet. Keep it together, Valarya_.

"How touching," spoke Archmagister Gothren, the venom in his voice all too apparent. Valarya nervously shifted her eyes to the mage lord. She knew beyond all doubts that the leader of House Telvanni was going to be a tough sell.

"I would hear your thoughts on this, Gothren," said Valarya, and all eyes focused on the master wizard.

Lord Gothren cleared his throat.

"Believe it or not, I do respect you, Valarya," he stated, his voice probably as kind as he would ever allow. "You studied with House Telvanni for many years, and Master Divayth Fyr has told me more than once that you were one of his most gifted students when you were apprenticed to him. I do not deny that your magic abilities are equal to many of my councilors. Hell, perhaps you could even best _me_ in a magic duel, who knows."

Valarya's eyes remained anxiously fixed on the Archmagister. While his comments flattered her, she knew better than to get her hopes up with Gothren.

"All that being said, my lady…" he began.

 _Here we go_ , thought Valarya.

"I am afraid I have no intention of pledging House Telvanni to your cause."

Valarya prepared for this, and yet it still stung. She winced internally, but bore Gothren's words with grace.

"Is there nothing that would change your mind, my lord Gothren?" Valarya inquired. Gothren let out a sigh.

"I hold little doubt that you would make a capable queen, my lady," he answered. "But, as you well know, we the Telvanni do not involve ourselves in Morrowind's tiring political machinations. We have always kept to ourselves. The members of my House simply wish to be left alone to pursue greater knowledge and wisdom, to further our own ambitions. As it is currently, my lady, we can do that just fine. I see no reason to involve myself, or my House, in what is a clear power grab for you and your husband." Valarya couldn't help but chuckle.

"I must say, Gothren, you're the last person in Morrowind I would expect to chastise me for 'power grabbing', as you put it."

"Oh I'm not criticizing you, Valarya," Gothren replied. "The strong are meant to rule the weak, that is simply the way of the world. If you carry through with this plan, I will hold every hope for your success. But as for me, my answer is final, and I am sorry if this displeases you."

Valarya shut her eyes, giving a frustrated sigh. She was finding it hard to maintain her composure. Lady Drethen had known Gothren for many years, well enough to know that trying to appeal to his sense of goodwill, or playing up her own virtues was an exercise in futility. Paranoid, narcissistic, and self-centered was Lord Gothren. If there remained any shred of hope of winning the Archmagister over, Valarya knew she was going to have to play to that.

 _I'm not giving up on you that easily, Gothren. House Telvanni commands some of the most powerful mages in Tamriel, not to mention a sizeable navy. I'll go to the ends of Oblivion to have them on my side._

Then it hit her, and she smiled.

"Master Gothren," she began, eyeing him confidently. "If I do become Morrowind's next ruler, one of my first and foremost goals will be the complete removal of any remaining influence of the Empire in this country. Part of this effort will be the dismantling of all Imperial-sanctioned guilds and organizations in Morrowind. And the first of these on my list, Gothren, will be your longtime rivals, the Mages Guild." Gothren paused just as he was about to drink his wine. He looked at Valarya, his mouth still hanging open.

 _Got you_.

"Are you…are you telling me that you…?"

"Yes, Gothren," she answered, her smile widening. "As queen, one of my first decrees will be the expulsion, and outlawing of the Mages Guild in Morrowind." The Archmagister looked more enticed with every word she spoke, even if he was trying to hide it.

 _He's bitten the hook. Now reel him in_.

"Upon this decree, all of their guild halls across the land will be seized in the name of the Crown," stated Valarya, "and all of their research, artifacts, treasures, resources, and whatever other valuable assets they may have, will be confiscated." Gothren remained silent, his eyes not leaving Valarya's.

"But if you support me, Gothren, and swear your loyalty to me, everything that is seized from the Mages Guild, I promise I will turn over to you," asserted Valarya. "In addition, House Telvanni will be made the sole legal provider of all arcane-related services in Morrowind, as it should always have been." Gothren did take a drink of his wine then, and Valarya could see he was actually pondering this. Surely a good sign.

"I pray this isn't a joke, Lady Drethen," said Gothren, setting down his wine.

"Do I look like I'm joking, Gothren?" she posed. "I hold House Telvanni very close to my heart, Archmagister. I would not be the accomplished sorceress I am today were it not for the tutelage of your House. I promise you, Gothren, House Telvanni can look forward to a bright, prosperous future under my reign. Everything that I promised you, you shall have, and so much more."

"All I ask of you in return, my lord, is the support of your armies, and your fealty when I am made Queen of Morrowind." The Archmagister took another chug of wine. The fingers of his other hand began drumming on the table again. Valarya's heart could have burst from her chest as she awaited Gothren's answer. Sweat was literally beginning to drip from her brow.

"What say you, Gothren?"

Archmagister Gothren looked at her, a subtle smirk crossing his face. "I do not deny that I have wanted a piece of the Mages Guild for a very long time. You truly promise everything you say?" Valarya nodded her head.

"Every word."

"Then in light of this, my lady, you hereby have my support, and my loyalty," stated Gothren, standing from his seat then. He grabbed his goblet, raising it to Valarya.

"House Telvanni stands with you, Lady Drethen."

"Thank you, Gothren," she said, with a wide smile. The wave of relief she felt then could have knocked her right off her feet.

That relief did not last, however. Taking a deep, nervous breath, Valarya cast her gaze to Lord Bolvyn.

"Archmaster Venim, I would hear from you next." Out of everyone gathered in this room, the lord of House Redoran by far caused her the most anxiety. While Valarya may have just barely been able to sway Gothren to her side with what was barely a step above a bribe, she knew such a tactic would never work on Bolvyn Venim. The Redoran Archmaster valued strength, honor, and military prowess above all, and it was no secret that his House commanded by far the largest, and most well-trained army in Morrowind. The prowess of the Redoran warriors was borderline legendary, and having them on her side would be invaluable to her cause, Valarya knew.

Bolvyn met her gaze then, and cleared his throat.

"I sincerely hope, my lady," began the Archmaster, "that you do not expect me to simply throw in with you, just because you have managed to garner the support of two Houses, and a worthless criminal." Valarya caught the glare that Orvas Dren shot Lord Venim just then, but thankfully he held his tongue.

"That is the last thing I would expect of you, my lord," Valarya responded amiably. She maintained firm eye contact with him.

"I answered your call to this gathering, Lady Drethen," said Bolvyn, "because I respect your status as a representative on the Grand Council, and I cannot deny the esteem you hold within Morrowind's nobility."

"But you are asking me to put at stake not only my own personal honor," he continued, "but also the honor of my entire House by abetting in treason. I commend your skills as a diplomat, Valarya, but as far as this whole idea of you as our queen goes, I am afraid I hold several major concerns that currently prevent me from pledging House Redoran to you."

"I would hear those concerns, Lord Venim," said Valarya, not breaking her gaze from him. Bolvyn met her stare, and was silent for a moment.

"If that is your wish," conceded the Archmaster. "Firstly, I will start off with the obvious." Valarya felt her chest tightening suddenly.

"Despite your admirable political shrewdness, my lady," said Bolvyn.

 _Don't say what I think you're gonna say,_ thought Valarya. _Don't say what I think you're gonna say_.

"You are, above all else, still a woman."

 _Aaaaand there it is_. Before Valarya could interject, Bolvyn continued.

"A woman who, despite her noblest attempts to hide it, is clearly with child." Lady Drethen couldn't help but sneer in amusement at the man.

"You believe my pregnancy makes me unfit to be queen, Archmaster?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"I never said that, my lady," Bolvyn replied. "But the fact remains, when that child is born, it will require-"

" _She_ ," Valarya interrupted, shooting Bolvyn a glare. The man gave her an apologetic nod.

"My mistake," he relented before continuing. "When your child is born, _she_ will require much of your time and attention. And quite frankly, my lady, I find myself doubting your ability to effectively rule and administrate an entire country with a squalling baby at your tits."

Alarys Drethen slammed his hand on the table.

"You have disrespected my wife for the last time, Bolvyn," said Alarys, glowering at the man. "Do so once more, Archmaster, and you and I _will_ cross blades."

"Alarys, enough," Valarya commanded, giving him a stern look. Her husband returned her gaze, his anger still burning in his eyes. Lord Drethen calmed himself after a moment, however, and he gave his wife what she knew was a look of understanding.

 _You cannot defend me, my love. Not this time_. Valarya composed herself again. She reverted her attention to Bolvyn.

"I understand your concern, Bolvyn," she said then, remaining cordial and graceful.

"That is not my only concern, Valarya," stated the Archmaster.

"Do speak your mind, my lord," she urged. Bolvyn shifted in his seat and took a drink from his cup before speaking.

"It is no secret, my lady, that your son, Serys, currently serves in the Imperial Legion," said Lord Venim. "If you are indeed set on declaring war against the Empire, then I am sure you are well aware that he is going to be on the opposing side."

Valarya's heart sank, and she was unable to suppress a pained gasp. All this meticulous planning, and not once had that thought even crossed her mind.

"During the course of all this, my lady," continued Bolvyn, "it is possible that a very, very difficult decision may be thrust upon you. And my question to you, Lady Drethen, is will you be able to make that decision, if required? If you truly do love Morrowind, as you so claim, will you be able to place that before your love for your own son?"

Valarya Drethen could have broken down into tears right there and then. She shut her eyes, letting out several shuddered breaths. She looked to her husband again, trying to find even a tiny sliver of comfort in his eyes.

"I pray that it does not come to that, my lord," answered Valarya, her voice still shaking mildly. "I love my son dearly, with all my heart, as every good mother should. But everyone in this world chooses their path in life, and everyone faces the consequences of the choices they make. Serys chose his path years ago, and so too shall he face whatever consequences lie in wait for him. That is all I will say of the matter, Archmaster."

Bolvyn Venim grimaced, visibly unimpressed with her answer. The Redoran Archmaster refilled his cup of wine and took a long sip. A tense silence hung in the air. Never in her life had Lady Drethen felt so flustered. She placed a hand on her stomach as she tried to find solace with the child growing inside her.

 _You're losing him_ , Valarya thought to herself, panicking. _Damn it, Valarya, you're better than this_.

"Have you ever led soldiers into battle before, my lady?" inquired Bolvyn. "Have you ever commanded a battlefield? Have you ever marched at the front of a legion of warriors, all the while possessing the full knowledge that every one of them that died would be doing so on your orders? Knowing that every drop of their blood spilled would be on your hands?" Lord Venim's burning stare pierced right into Valarya like daggers.

She shook her head glumly. "No, Archmaster."

"You speak of war as if you know it," remarked Bolvyn. "You treat war as if it were some game. If you truly mean to go through with this insurrection against the Empire and usurp the throne of Morrowind, then thousands are going to die making that happen. That is what so many of the nobility fail to understand. While they busy themselves scheming their way to power, it is the blood of ordinary soldiers that is spilled in the process."

"Tell me, Valarya, why should I command my soldiers to spill their blood for you?" asked Bolvyn. "Why should I ask the famed warriors of Great House Redoran to die for the sake of furthering your own ambitions?"

"For the same reason they died four hundred years ago, defending this land against Tiber Septim and his armies," Valarya retorted with a raised voice. "Because Morrowind does not deserve to be ruled by a human Empire. Because Morrowind deserves to be a free kingdom, and its people free to choose their own destiny." Archmaster Venim looked at her silently.

"When Emperor Septim invaded Morrowind, it was House Redoran who led the resistance against him," Valarya stated. "While the other Houses squabbled and argued amongst themselves, it was Redoran who bravely stood against the Empire, who valiantly fought for Morrowind's freedom. Despite their best efforts, Morrowind was still conquered, but the heroic sacrifice of House Redoran was never forgotten." The Archmaster's gaze was still stern, but his expression seemed to soften just slightly.

"What I give to you, Archmaster," said Valarya, "is the chance to honor that sacrifice, the chance to avenge the life of every Redoran warrior that was lost defending this country. Thousands from your House gave their lives fighting the Empire, and I wish to ensure that those lives were not given in vain."

"Join with me, Lord Bolvyn," urged Valarya. "Join with me, not for my sake, not for my own desires, but for the chance to bring honor and glory to House Redoran. For the chance to exact vengeance upon the Empire that slew so many of your warriors, and reclaim Morrowind's freedom." There was a brief pause. Valarya clutched the pendant around her neck nervously, subtly opening and closing her fingers several times. She narrowed her eyes at the Archmaster.

"What say you, Bolvyn?"

Roughly a minute of complete silence passed, and Valarya was even more anxious now than she was with Lord Gothren. Bolvyn Venim was deep in thought, as Valarya could see. But whatever his decision was going to be, Lady Drethen hated every second she had to wait for it.

"I have made my decision, my lady," spoke the Archmaster finally. Valarya braced herself for whatever was to come next. She nodded her head, urging him to continue.

"I'm going to be straight with you, Valarya," he said. "If the choice of Morrowind's next ruler fell solely to me, I'm afraid you would be far from my first choice. You lack many of the qualities I consider ideal in a ruler, and I still hold all of my aforementioned concerns."

"However," Bolvyn continued, "I will not deny that you are skilled with words, Lady Drethen, and what you said to me earlier admittedly has moved me. Our loss against Tiber Septim was a dark day for House Redoran, and I would not only be bringing dishonor to my House by failing to avenge that loss, but I would be failing in my duties as Archmaster."

A flame of hope ignited inside Valarya, and her eyes widened then.

"In spite of your shortcomings, my lady, I think you may just make for a better ruler than King Helseth," said Bolvyn. "Your spirit is strong, and you respect the ancient traditions that have governed the Dunmer for generations. If this truly is the greatest chance we have to defeat the Empire, and restore honor to my House, then I would be a great fool to pass that up." The Dunmer stood from his seat then.

"And it is for these reasons that I, Bolvyn Venim, Lord of Ald'ruhn, and Archmaster of Great House Redoran, do hereby support your claim to the throne of Morrowind, my lady." The Dunmer raised his cup to Valarya, and in that moment, she could have cried.

"House Redoran stands with you, Valarya."

Valarya gave the man a heartfelt smile. "Thank you, Bolvyn. You will not regret this."

"Have another drink, my lady," said Bolvyn, offering Valarya his cup. "You look like you could use it." Valarya nodded her thanks to Bolvyn, and proceeded to take a generous swig of his wine.

It took a good several moments for Valarya to get herself together again. Her insides swirled with pure elation, and she found herself reveling in astonishment at what she had accomplished. Dealing with Archmaster Venim had turned out to be even more unpleasant and difficult than Valarya had anticipated, and even now his terribly harsh words to her still echoed inside her mind. But Lady Drethen maintained her grace, her composure, and her dignity, just as she would have to were she to rule as Morrowind's queen. And in the end, she secured the allegiance of Archmaster Bolvyn Venim. The legendary warriors of House Redoran were now on her side. They would fight for her.

Valarya Drethen glanced across the table, at none other than her husband. The others at the table followed her lead, and all eyes were now on Lord Drethen. Alarys met his wife's gaze.

"And what of you, my dear husband?" asked Valarya, eyeing him intently. "Do I have the backing of House Dres?" As if she even needed to ask.

Lord Alarys Drethen rose from his seat, his gaze not breaking away from his wife as he walked over to her. Alarys ran a hand through his wife's braided hair, while with the other, he lightly brushed her cheek. A faint smile crossed the Dres Grandmaster's face, which Valarya returned.

"From the moment I first laid my eyes on you, I knew you would be my wife," Alarys spoke. "I knew you would be the one I would share my life with. From the day you and I were wed, Valarya, we have been more than husband and wife. We have been a team, and every challenge and hardship that has befallen us, we have faced together as a team. We've been to Oblivion and back, my love, and every time we have emerged stronger than before. All these years, Valarya, you have stood by me. And now, my love, it is time for me to return the favor." The Drethens shared a kiss, and Valarya found herself unable to hold back the joyful tears that had begun flooding her eyes.

"You deserve to sit that throne, Valarya," said Alarys. "Your reign shall be the dawn of a golden age for Morrowind, one not seen since Nerevar himself. I swear to you, my love, I will do every last thing within my power to bring you to your throne. And from the moment that crown is placed upon your brow, and every day thereafter, it will be my great honor to be your consort, and to serve you in whatever way you would have me." Alarys kissed his wife again, and she smiled warmly as tears flowed down her cheeks.

"House Dres stands with you, my beloved wife," said Alarys. "House Dres stands with Morrowind's new queen."

Valarya merely stood there in astonished silence, hardly able to believe what she had accomplished.

 _They support me_ , she thought to herself as a wave of joy and relief swelled through every inch of her. If someone had have told Valarya years ago that she would be vying for the throne of Morrowind itself, with the backing of all the Great Houses, no less, she almost certainly would have never believed them. And yet here she was now, having done that very thing.

Valarya Drethen was not finished, though. There was still one man at this table who's support she needed to earn.

"Archcanon Saryoni. I hope you have not grown too bored," Valarya quipped, shifting her gaze to the head of the Tribunal Temple.

"When I received your request for my presence at your home," spoke Tholer Saryoni, "I found myself quite curious as to what this was all about. I must say, I would never have expected to witness for myself what you have just done. I daresay you have perhaps made history itself this night, Lady Drethen, and I commend you for this accomplishment."

"Thank you, Your Holiness," Valarya replied gratefully.

"And just what exactly is it you would ask of me, my lady?" inquired the Archcanon. "Do you also seek my support for your plans to take Morrowind's throne?" Valarya took a moment to formulate her response.

"Esteemed Archcanon," Lady Drethen respectfully addressed. "I have successfully acquired the backing of the five Great Houses, as you have just seen for yourself. However, if my claim to the throne of Morrowind is to be viewed as legitimate in the eyes of its denizens, then I know that I must acquire the blessing of the Temple." Tholer Saryoni eyed her keenly as she spoke.

"You wish for me to give formal recognition to your claim," Tholer stated.

"Yes, lord Archcanon," Valarya responded. "And also, if Your Holiness would be so generous, perhaps you would consider lending the Ordinators toward my efforts of overthrowing the Empire." A grimace swept over Tholer Saryoni's face, and he narrowed his eyes at Valarya.

"The Ordinators are not a mercenary band, Lady Drethen," the Archcanon sternly affirmed.

"No, of course not, my lord," Valarya cordially replied. "But the Ordinators are without doubt one of the deadliest fighting forces in Tamriel, all the same. Having them on my side would be a tremendous boon to my plans." There was a brief silence between the two of them.

"This is no small request to consider, my lady," said Tholer.

"I understand, Archcanon. Please, do take as much time as you need to think this over." The library was quiet again, and remained so for roughly a good minute or two as Tholer Saryoni mulled all of this over.

"You understand, Lady Drethen," Tholer began then, "that it is not commonplace for the Temple to involve itself in political affairs. As Archcanon, my primary responsibility is ensuring that the holy laws of the Temple are duly enforced, and that the will of the Tribunal is upheld throughout Morrowind. By granting you an official, Temple-sanctioned claim to the throne, I would also be declaring against King Helseth, and would be branding myself a traitor."

"You're only a traitor if I lose, Archcanon," Valarya stated. Tholer forced a grin at her remark.

"True enough," he answered. "My main concern right now, however, is regarding your devotion to the Tribunal Temple. Know that I am not necessarily opposed to you ruling Morrowind as our queen, Valarya. But the simple truth is, I have never known you to be a particularly pious woman. And as for that pendant you wear, while I certainly will not say I approve, I suppose there are worse Daedric Princes you could venerate."

Resandis Indoril spoke up then. "My lord Archcanon, I have known Valarya her entire life. It is true that she does carry unorthodox beliefs for a member of House Indoril, but I can personally vouch that she is no less true to the faith of Almsivi all the same." Resandis and Tholer exchanged glances, and Valarya gave her Grandmaster a brief smile.

"Tell me, Archcanon," she said. "Would you consider Hlaalu Helseth to be any more pious than me?" Tholer looked at her with mild curiosity.

"No, my lady. I wouldn't." Valarya smiled.

"You and I both know, lord Archcanon, that the fool Helseth is a mere tool of the Empire, that they use as a means of exerting their authority over this land," stated Valarya. "He cares not an ounce for the Temple, or its laws. The king has done nothing to suppress the ever rising Dissident Priests, and their false heresies that spread across Morrowind like wildfire. This so-called 'Nerevarine' hogwash has been allowed to exist for too long. As Morrowind's monarch, I will work closely with the Temple in cleansing this land of these lies, and rooting out the heretics who profess them."

"In addition," Valarya continued, "I will ban all forms of worship of the Nine Divines in Morrowind. The Empire's pathetic gods have no place with the Dunmer people. All shrines, chapels, and tithes that currently belong to the Imperial Cult will be seized, and given to the Temple. Their priests will be granted the option of leaving Morrowind, or converting to the faith of the Tribunal. Those that refuse to do either will be put to death."

Archcanon Saryoni did not speak for a good while, but Valarya could see he was giving her proclamations much thought.

"What say you, lord Archcanon?" she asked. Their gazes met. "Do I have the backing of the Temple?"

"I would be lying if I said I am not dissatisfied with King Helseth's rule," Tholer professed. "Besides his blatant negligence of his obligations to the Temple, the king is also an outlander, raised amongst Imperials, and therefore imbued with Imperial customs. He knows nothing of Morrowind, knows nothing of the Dunmer people, or their ways. While I still somewhat question your religious devotion, my lady, I cannot deny that your heart is with the Dunmer people. Though I am reticent to involve myself in this, so long as you swear to faithfully uphold the laws of the Tribunal, and work towards the betterment of this country, then I promise you will forever have the support of the Temple."

Valarya nodded her head. "I swear it, Archcanon," she declared firmly. "Upon my own children, I do swear it."

Tholer Saryoni stood from his seat, clearing his throat. "Then by my authority as Archcanon of the Tribunal Temple, and ever faithful servant of Our Exalted Lord Vivec, I do hereby formally recognize your claim to the throne of Morrowind, and bestow upon it my blessing, and the blessing of Almsivi."

"And when you ascend to your throne, my lady," said the Archcanon, "it will be my honor to personally place the crown upon your head at your coronation in Mournhold, and introduce you to the realm as Valarya Drethen, Lady High Councilor of the Grand Council, Duchess of Mournhold, and Queen of Morrowind."

Lady Drethen was beaming inside, but her expression remained neutral and professional.

"The honor will be mine, Esteemed Archcanon," she declared.

"And as for the Ordinators…" said Tholer, pausing then for several moments. "The Order of War currently numbers three thousand strong. Against my better judgement, my lady, I will lend them to your cause…but only if you agree to one condition." Valarya gave Tholer a curious look.

"What would you ask of me, lord Archcanon?"

"All I ask, my lady," said Tholer, "is that when it comes time for you and your forces to converge at Mournhold, that you not mount an assault upon the city."

"Mournhold is not only the capital of Morrowind," stated Tholer, "but it is also the city of our Exalted Lady Almalexia. I will not have you reducing her walls and buildings to rubble, or painting her streets with blood."

"And do you have a better idea, my lord?" Valarya inquired. Tholer Saryoni nodded his head.

"I will send an encoded message to the Patriarch of the Mournhold Temple," Tholer replied. "At my orders, when you reach Mournhold, the High Ordinators will subdue King Helseth's forces, as well as open the gates of the city to you. From there, your gathered army can take Mournhold in minutes, with minimal to no bloodshed."

"Do you agree to this, Lady Drethen?" asked Tholer, eyeing Valarya keenly. She didn't even need to think twice about this.

"Yes, Archcanon," she stated simply. Tholer gave a nod of his head.

"Then from this moment, and until you claim your throne, three thousand Ordinators now fight for you," declared Tholer Saryoni. "Do use them wisely, Lady Drethen."

And with that, Valarya Drethen had now acquired the backing she needed to overthrow the accursed Empire, and claim Morrowind's throne for herself thereafter. With the five Great Houses, as well as the Tribunal Temple now on her side, Valarya was beyond certain her goals were now within reach. She looked at each of her guests seated at the table, hardly able to believe she had actually been successful in obtaining all of their support.

"You honor me, all of you," Valarya announced, her voice strong, but humble as she addressed her guests. "I know I am asking the world from you all, but I swear to you now, I will not betray the trust each of you have placed in me. This night…you, the rulers of Morrowind, have chosen me to be your queen. I am beyond grateful that you have given me this chance, my lords. I only hope that I am able to prove myself worthy of the trust and support you have given me."

Resandis Indoril stood from his seat, gazing at Valarya, with pride beaming in his aged eyes.

"Hail Her Majesty, Valarya Drethen, Queen of Morrowind," proclaimed the head of Valarya's birth House as he raised his cup to her. The others at the table raised their cups soon after.

"Hail Her Majesty," came their voices in unison.

Her husband, still standing next to her, looked deep into her eyes, and she in his. Alarys gave his wife a passionate kiss, and Valarya felt a tear forming in her eye. Alarys smiled proudly at her, and repeated the words of their guests.

"Hail Her Majesty."


End file.
